It’s the little changes that really make the difference

Well, chums, here I am again with my bagful of dirt about your disorderly classmates, after spending a helluva weekend in N’Yawk trying to view the Columbia game from behind two bumbershoots and a glazed cornea. And speaking of news, howzabout tossing a few chirce nuggets my way? I had the copasetic experience of watching a junior varsity women’s thermo-nuclear mud polo match before break when a singular epiphany took over my noggin; our dear alma-matter lacks the get-up and swing of school spirit! Now, my fellow sports enthusiasts might think I’m all wet with applesauce, but for the most part our school is made up of nebbish young killjoys and sullied wet blankets. Ask any Joe Brooks or bug-eyed Betty on campus, and you’ll get all in a lather once you realize that none of them know our affable mascot Brett, or even our fighting song (“We’ll kick those Huns at BC back four years to McKinley’s presidency!”). At this joint, we don’t have live wires; we have dewdroppers and the occasional drugstore cowboy! But don’t get off your nuts yet, chums, this old reporter is about to spill the beans on what would make BU hip to the jive. Here’s the bit: More shindigs means more huzza! So here’s a list of some shenanigans that will not only elevate school pride, but also perhaps lead to some whoopee as well! First off, we need a memorable bust made of that old pill, Dean Silber. You might remember me razzing on that Whig-sympathizing patsy before, but even I’ve got to admit the clyde needs some recognition. But before you’ve cast a kitten to my apparent hoodwinking, let me make clear I only want a statue of our dear departed sugar daddy so that we can sufficiently trounce it! Believe you me, fella, nothing says school spirit like taking a chopper to a memorable statue. Secondly, we need some sort of metrosexual parade day. It’s come to my peepers that there’s too many of these scrawny whelps whimpling down the street in broad daylight. Nothing would send these riffraff looking for a dog faster than if we all got together and started emulating their style. These dandies wouldn’t know what to do if we all started dressing like that foppish starlet Mary Pickford. You can’t be a palooka if everyone else has caught the drift, and soon those male flappers will be splitzville. I think it would be the bee’s knees if all us gents got together and shelled out a clam each to see that quiff Brittney Spears neked in some gentleman periodical like The New Yorker. Those luscious gams of hers have had me lollygagging around my room for hours! If every young whelp in this joint puts in the right amount of simoleans, that gold-digging broad would be paid quite a handsome sum for just a gander of her undressing! Another idea I think would be the cat’s meow is if every weekend or so we had some sort of political-related absinthe party! Everyone in the college would be invited (except for maybe those carpetbaggers in the School of Phrenology) to get royally fried and discuss the body politic. No, I don’t mean for us to parlay in fisticuffs, but I would rather like to tell those insolent pollywags in support of the Monroe Doctrine where Teddy Roosevelt can shove his big stick. Yessir, it would be a good gathering of minds – and hopefully, after enough indulgent piffle, the whole deal might turn out to be a regular petting party! Don’t get your knickers in a snit yet, dolls. There’s plenty of hanky-panky in store for the ghoils too. The cafeteria could start handing out free noodle juice, and all you Janes can have organized slumber-parties where they dole out free munitions for your chassis (turning you all into some ripe tomatoes) and all you shebas can watch talkies with your sheiks. This all may seem old hat and borrin-ski to us fellas, but you’ve gotta give the dumb Doras of the school their due. Lastly, we all know BU has a snazzy football team, but we need a sport of a different caliber – like football, the emigrant kind! Yessir, “socker” as they call it, has taken the world by storm – and what better way to promote school spirit than to embrace the thriving athletic activity of millions? Practically no one attends our football games now; but if we bring kickball here, every Tom, Dick and Harry is likely to show up and root for the old red and white! Now that I’ve got you on the trolley – I’m sure you’ll realize it would be the gnat’s whistle if the whole school followed my advice. If you’ve got a beef with that, tell it to Sweeney. And remember, don’t take any wooden nickels!

Patrick May, a junior in the College of Arts and Sciences, is a weekly columnist for The Daily Free Press.