Grass hurts; let's cover the campus with asphalt

The week before Spring Break, the University broke ground on the new science library that will reside next to Fine Hall. The new library will cover one of the last few areas of open space left on campus that are available to students for unplanned recreation.

Let me define what I mean by "open space." It should be basically rectangular, flat, not crisscrossed by non-mud paths, and large enough to sustain a touch (or tackle if it's snowing) football game. A Wayne's World-esque asphalt strip for street hockey just doesn't cut it. It also has to be within a 10-minute walk from the center of campus — President Tilghman's limit for the distance of future buildings.

That leaves Mathey courtyard, Poe Field, the space south of Frist, and Cannon Green (sort of). I would count Lake Carnegie, but even that's man-made. A proctor kicked some friends of mine off Cannon Green for playing football, though I don't believe that violates any "Rights, Rules, and Responsibilities."

Now if you want to play a game that does not involve standing still on a surface God made, most students have to do some serious planning. By the way, Princeton Stadium — open 24 hours — is not open to students to step on the field, lest we hurt its already awful grass surface.

Anyway, I say good riddance to grass on the library site. We should cover the whole campus in asphalt. Grass can seriously injure people! Let me explain . . . (Wayne's World dream sequence . . .)

On a glorious, bright day during the spring of freshman year, my roommate and I were riding our bikes to a review session for our math final in Fine. I distinctly remember thinking to myself, "What a wonderful day."

After crossing Washington Road, my roommate chose to take the safe asphalt path leading down a gentle slope to the door of Fine Hall.

I decided to exult in the beauty of our campus, so I sped down the sharp incline on the north end of the green space that is now muddy with the beginnings of library construction.

I flew across the surface of the grass on my bike, following no path, ignorant of the review session in which I would more than likely soon be snoring.

You see, the problem with grass is that the surface is not uniform. And even well manicured grass can grow over sizeable holes, hiding them from the naked eye.

While my eye couldn't catch the hole in the grass, my front tire found it like it had radar. Rather than rolling on by as tires are meant to do, mine decided to stop in the hole like it was lined with crazy glue.

Meanwhile, my body just kept going right over the handlebars. The first thing that hit the grass was my forehead.

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I lay paralyzed on the ground for a few seconds. When I sat up and muttered "F—-," my roommate started laughing. The other person who saw me fall was in a motorized wheelchair. He turned his chair and starting rolling toward me.

My first internal reaction was, "What is he going to do to help me if my neck is broken? Honestly!" In hindsight, I appreciate his compassion, but, at the time, it was just another annoying side note to my embarrassing fall.

I stumbled to my feet and walked my bike the rest of the way to Fine. In the bathroom, I noticed grass stains on my forearm and forehead. (Wayne's World dream sequence end . . .)

So in order to reduce further hidden grass potholes, cover the rest of the campus in asphalt and buildings. Recreational athletics are not important parts of the college experience.