When I went to St. Norbert, I had the privilege of living in the school’s oldest dormitory for two years – the first by assignment…the second by choice. It wasn’t tough to get into Burke Hall. It was the sort of dorm that you avoided if you could. It was like moving into a fixer upper – the delusions of what could be far outweighed what really was.
But there was a certain charm to Burke Hall that one learned to appreciate (which explains why I went back for a second dose). It was like that old, broken in baseball cap. It was so beaten to he*l that you knew, no matter what you threw at it, it couldn’t look any worse than it already did. It was comfortable. It was reliable. It had bats. Burke Hall had bats, that is, not your baseball cap. It also was a fairly happenin’ place to live. Read into that what you will. It was college. I make no apologies.
Okay, so back to the bats…
Every once in a while Burke Hall would erupt in screams – not the usual “hey it’s college” screams, but earsplitting, wall piercing shrieks of genuine terror. That’s when I knew it was go time. The slamming doors and cries of helplessness were my call from Commissioner Gordon.
It was time to grab my Prince CTS Synergy DB 26 Mid Plus and go to work.
Positioned in the doorway, it was a fairly simple task, to tell the truth. Just wait for Batty McBat to approach, and – THWAP – give him a little cat gut sandwich. Order restored to Burke Hall.
The toughest part was waitin’ around, so I can’t claim any legitimate heroism. I mean, it was a tennis racquet. That’s a fairly substantial striking surface. It’s not like I was using a hockey stick! Now that would be impressive. I’d like to see that. You? Well here you go:
Well played, gentlemen. Well played indeed.