The University of Michigan has thing called IM sports. It's basically a collection of sports leagues for athletes who not only weren't good enough to make varsity, they weren't good enough to make the club team made up of the varsity rejects. Think of it as the JV team's JV team. Within each IM league there are three levels, A, B, and C, with A being comprised of the JV team's JV team's players, B being the A level's JV team, and C being all the other people at the university that have no business playing sports in any sort of a serious manner. I am in C.
I joined the team on a last minute whim the night before our first game because they didn't have enough girls. My only prior experience with anything related to broomball was figure skating in high school and scooter hockey in 5th grade. I had to take a test on the rules before I was able to officially join the team, so from that combined with what everything I could conjure up in my imagination, I established the rules.
(What I Assume To Be) The Rules And Regulations Of Broomball
- run across the ice
- try as hard as you can to not fall on the ice
- when the time comes, you will probably have to dive across the ice
- if the ball is near you just swat it in any random direction--it's not going to to where you want it to anyway
- accept that you will crash into everything since stopping is nearly impossible
- don't assault people with your stick
- don't drink
We may have missed the memo on that last one.
8:30 p.m. (On A Monday) Combat Sobriety
4 out of the 5 of us playing convene at World of Beer (or WOB for those of us that have ever heard of World of Beer) for a light pregame of three beers and a vodka shot. Okay so it wasn't light. I was tasked with choosing our second round, and since I chose the Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier aka the most unpronounceable one possible, I was also given the task of ordering it. I'm not sure what I ordered, but it definitely wasn't a Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier. It probably was some sort of wildly inappropriate German insult.
10:10 p.m. What Exactly Is An Uber Anyway?
After leaving the waitress a beautiful love letter, we headed outside to hail the Uber we called. Being the drunkards that we were, we hailed a random car who seemed to be less than appreciative as he flipped us off. Eventually we did find the right Uber, crammed inside, and asked the driver if he knew where "not the stadium but near it" is. Strong start.
10:20 p.m. Let The Games Begin
We faced our first challenge almost immediately with the helmets. If I had to make an estimated guess, I'd assume they were designed with 3 ft. shrunken headed midgets in mind. Once we finally got those on it was time to take it to center ice for kick off or shoot out or whatever it is the start of the game is called. Let's go with happy slappies.
Happy slappies went as well as you would expect it to when dealing with 6 drunk college students. The only person who was in any proper formation was our goalie, while the rest of us ran haphazardly, and unsuccessfully, chasing after the ball. In my overzealous state, I decided I would do absolutely everything necessary to win this game. That meant running as hard as I could at all times and making one poor shot on goal. Mostly it meant falling roughly every 2 minutes. Half of that was due to the running, half to my not knowing how to stop in a way that didn't involve slamming myself into the boards.
10:40 p.m. Carol! Get Your Shit Together Carol!
Come half time we got a special visit from the director of IM sports who just wanted to see how we were doing and how we all knew each other. He didn't actually want to see how we were, he just got tipped off by our over the top and unnecessary screaming that maybe the vodka fairy was kept bibity bobity booping us to the ground. I really don't know how he thought he would figure that out with "how do you know each other?" Are drunk people incapable of recognizing who they do and do not know? Is that why everyone is a friend to drunk me? Sir director might be on to something...
After half time I switched into the goal. The beginning of my shift was a little rough and I gave up 2 goals because I was afraid of throwing my body to the ice for the sake of the team. I was also still uncoordinated and drunk. Once I got the hang of become a human shield, things started to turn up (aside from getting accidentally body checked into the wall by my over 6 foot + teammate) and I didn't give up a goal. Unfortunately it was already too late for that to matter.
10:50 p.m. Even The Losers Deserve A Trophy
After the two 20 minute halves were up we had not come out victorious. I'm not entirely sure what the exact score was, but we scored once, and the other team scored much more than once.
A little defeated by our losing record we decided to drown our sorrows with some greasy college town Mexican food. I honestly couldn't tell you where we went, but by god that was the greatest damn quesadilla I've had in a while. Sober or not it deserved a 10/10 would bang.
- Getting drunk: + 1 point
- Getting drunk on a Monday: - 2 points
- Pronunciation of :- 1 point
- Surviving a vodka shot: + 1 point
- Attempting to hail a random car: - 1 point
- Bruising every joint on my body: - 1 point
- Diving to the ground like a badass: + 1 point
- Only giving up 2 goals: + 1 point
- Being belligerent enough to be questioned by the IM sports popo: - 1 point
- Successfully evading the IM sports popo: + 1 point
- Losing the game: - 3 points
- Post-game quesadilla: invaluable
As much as I'd like to do all that math, I think what really matters here is that we lost the game. Against all urges, I'll have to take the loss on this one.
Molly: 5 – Challenges: 3
Liked this challenge? Loved this challenge? Left a passive aggressive note for me to clean up after myself because of how much you hated this challenge? Let me know what you thought and what else you want to see!