Think back to the days of your own childhood. A much simpler time, filled with kickball, capture the flag, and tug of war. Tug of War: that most epic battle of strength and strategy that dates back to our elementary school days. Few things can deliver the same satisfaction as pouring your heart and soul into hanging on a rope, in a quest for the glory that the winner would inevitably receive. And few things can be quite as devastating as the moment when you felt your feet start to slip and waited with dread to be heaved under the milling feet of your teammates. Yes, many a field day has been decided by this age old struggle of weight vs. will, and many a casualty has been sustained in the protection of bragging rights for the year. But eventually, we grow up. We take physics and become jaded by the formulas for the force of tension in a string, and the energy conservation principle. Gone are the carefree days of the dirt parking lot and that impossibly thick rope. I found out today, however, that even after all these years, there are still some people who just can’t “let go”.
Thursday marked the start of Tech’s annual Greek Week: a series of competitions and contests among all members of the Greek community. One of the most anticipated events of this week is Tug. Tug takes that childhood memory of dust and rope burns to a whole new level. Essentially, a huge pit, about three feet deep, is dug. It is then filled with about a foot and a half of water, and of course, a rope. Each sorority and fraternity forms a team of fourteen, and competes against each other until a winner of each bracket is decided. Most people have been training for this week since early November or so.
Naturally, with the arrival of the big day, I sprang out of bed half an hour late to nine missed calls, got dressed in record time, and launched myself from the dorm. Five minutes later, I was at the registration table, amidst my much relieved teammates. We weren’t scheduled to go until 17th, so we got to wait around for half of the day and watch everyone else. It was quite a sight. Mud flung from every direction as individuals tied towels on the rope to lean on. Coaches bellowed audibles at the top of their lungs. People strutted around, wrapped in colorful duct tape to prevent rope burns. Yes, this was something else.
Finally, at long last, it was time. We lined up and marched into the pit, looking as intimidating as possible. As I crouched in the mud, sitting on someone’s cleats with my knees jammed in someone else’s back, adrenaline pumped through me; adrenaline that I had not felt since the glory days of high school sports. I was painfully aware of how much I missed it. The whistle cut through the air, and we were up. For a moment, nothing happened. Both sides remained stationary. And then with a lurch, everything started moving at once. My knot instantly started slipping, and I clung onto the rope for dear life, struggling to stay standing. The next few minutes dragged on and on, with the rope going back and forth. But after about 6 minutes, we started losing ground permanently. Suddenly, bodies ran past me, almost unrecognizable. It was time for last ditch efforts. We pulled with all our might, but were rapidly losing rope. The caution tape barrier loomed a few spaces before me. Then it was right on top of me. I was still desperately trying to scoot back as the whistle blew. Both sides plopped down exhausted.
After scuffling around yanking towels off the line, I finally dragged myself out of the pit and crawled over to where the rest of our defeated team sat. I started picking off the duct tape, waiting for the familiar wave of anger that usually accompanies a loss. I was shocked when I was instead greeted with a wave of our fans, congratulating us and saying, “Good job. Good fight.” It was a foreign feeling to come off a loss feeling happy, but I had genuinely had so much fun playing in the mud that I couldn’t help it. It had been years since I had felt this pure joy of competition, the kind that goes along with competing with no repercussions threatening you. There was no record to be tainted, no seed to be lost, and no angry coach to deal with, yet there was still a high level of competition. It was a baffling occurrence.
I eventually made my way back to the dorm, disgustingly filthy, exhausted, and beaming from ear to ear. Every now and then, I guess even Techies want to act like little kids again. Sometimes, we all need to take our pent up frustration out on something, and go back to a simpler time. Once a year, Greek life takes a turn for the best, when we all just have to go out and get dirty.
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