Robopound: A game for the whole family

You'd have to be living in a bong chamber if you didn't realize that this school's strength is its universal attention to detail. From copious note-taking in lectures to socks carefully positioned on common room doors, Princeton students are a rare and focused breed of humanoid. You won't find a better example of this fascination with detail than in taprooms along the 'Street,' where weekend in and weekend out, binge boozers treat every drinking game like it's the seventh game of the World Series.

I'm sure you've witnessed the Prospect Avenue All-Stars in action, if you yourself aren't one already. These are the people who carry around their own lucky coins, throw their hands out first when a quarter bounces off a Robopound playing surface and line up every Beirut shot like they were triangulating the exact location of the G-spot.

Now, while I admire these legends of the chug-a-lug gridiron for their dedication, I have to admit that their devotion to drinking games is like studying for an Orgo exam — a complete waste of time. Sure, it may seem great to be a Speed Quarters expert so you can rack up style points or impress the nearest life form with breasts and a halter-top. The fact remains, however, that it doesn't take much more than the coordination of a retarded chimpanzee to make your opponents down a whole pitcher of lukewarm Beast.

Case in point: when my mom (no relation to mentally challenged primates) visited campus last weekend, I took her out to experience the social climate of this school by including her in a few games of Beirut and Robopound. I figured she would at least feign excitement watching me and my friends getting "blottoed" (that's New York Jewish Mom for "drizznunk") while maybe taking a few sips every now and then.

When the final beer had been consumed after the last game of Robo, we were all in an inebriated haze of shock. I had lost count of the number of cans of whoop-ass she opened on us college kids, but it was something in the neighborhood of 13 trillion.

For me, this was no big surprise — after all, the official slogan of her life is "Michele Crown Takes No Crap from Nobody." But seeing her nail cup after cup of skunky brew really made me appreciate how easy it is to go from rookie to hall-of-famer in the wide world of Princeton drinking sports. And don't give me the beginner's luck excuse — if Robopound had anything to do with luck, I might be sober right now.

In light of this startling revelation, I think we need a McCainesque reform of the drinking game campaign on campus. No more contests based on the male ideal of simple, repeated motions. This is, after all, an institution of higher learning. If we're going to be killing all those brain cells, we might as well give them a workout before they become useless gray matter.

Here are some alcoholic alternatives:

HOLD ON, PUBLIC SAFETY — A game designed for dorm-room play, HOPS challenges you to drink while resisting local search and seizure laws. If you lose, however, your beer gets confiscated.

SIT DOWN, YOU SUCK — Get in touch with your buddies from other schools in this intercollegiate version of beer basketball. Making shots is a piece of cake unless you're playing friends from Penn.

GRAD STUDENT ROUND TABLE — This Zoom-variant requires you to lock the beer up in a fridge and sit around in a circle whining about how you're not allowed access to it anymore.

INTEGRATE/INEBRIATE — Leave the TI-83s at home for this brain-buster. Complete a few differential equations and your opponents have to take Pi shots of 151.

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PRINCETONIANS FOR PRESIDENT (a.k.a. ME LLAMO BRADLEY) — Talk a good game, make a few shots, but drop out when you start to get hammered.

Hey, if you want to stick to your gluggin' guns with the Street's more traditional fare, be my guest. Just remember that no matter which game you do choose to play, my mom could probably spank you at it.