In case you were wondering, ping pong, or table tennis, is probably older than you think it is — some form of it has existed since the mid-1800s. Modern paddles and balls have been around since the 1950s, and by all accounts, some variation of pong has been played at Dartmouth since then. I could have made my last column of the term be something deep and insightful, but instead I have chosen to write a treatise on pong.
Dartmouth’s two biggest contributions to society seem to be Dr. Seuss and pong. Sure, we don’t have any presidents as alumni but we did invent a drinking game. The transition to beirut in the rest of the college-aged population is one of the greater tragedies of our time. The story goes that students at the University of Michigan, intent on their game of pong, played so hard that they broke their paddles, hence the birth of beirut. Because people would rather play a boring, slow-paced game that requires little strategy or skill instead of a fast-paced, fun-to-watch game that I would argue could be considered on some level a sport, beirut has replaced pong. If you’re hanging out with friends from home, and they start talking about pong, and you say “Oh, you mean beirut?” they will look like you’re crazy, and say “No, beer pong.” Or else they’ll call it “BP,” which is a useless acronym, and always brings to mind that oil company that dumped millions of barrels of oil in the Gulf of Mexico.
Soon, we shall make the mass migration back to our hometowns for winter break and reconnect with old friends. Winter break usually begins my futile mission to convince everyone that pong is better beirut. Last New Year’s, at a friend’s party, I bought strawberry Andre and tried to create a celebratory game of champong. Everyone spent the whole game complaining about how terrible Andre tastes. I was overcome with a sense of homesickness for Dartmouth, where champong is a fine tradition, and Andre tasting terrible is kind of the point. This summer, at the company where I interned, we hosted a “Christmas in July Party,” and an impromptu game of beirut was set up. I was terrible at that game, and in order to explain my ineptitude, I began my long, practiced rant about how we do things differently at Dartmouth. No one was interested.
Once you go to Dartmouth, you realize that when you come back home, you’re always going to be different from your friends. They will assume that you’ve dropped out of school whenever you have an off-term, because for some reason people the world over are incapable of understanding the vagaries of the D-Plan. Random people will say, “Oh, smart girl” when you tell them where you go to school, and you will have no idea whether to agree with them. They will wonder what classes you failed that made you stay over sophomore summer, and look at you incomprehensibly when you explain that it’s actually fun. They will be jealous when you get to spend the whole term in Barcelona, Beijing or Thailand. They will not understand flair, or the way the Greek system works at Dartmouth. They will not understand why you suck at beirut.
I was once told that pong is like a dance. This was told to me by a boy, and it’s something that you would expect a boy to say, since here, “Wanna play pong?” is pretty much equivalent to “Yo, I’ve been watching you all tails and I think you look hot in that dinosaur onesie and I would love a chance to get to know you better.” But I like the image of us Dartmouth students, dancing our way through college life. And for my friends who don’t like beer or hate pong, just roll with it. It says something about our school that there is particular grace and fortitude required for our weird drinking game that we take so seriously.
’17s, the ridiculous ban on frats has long since been lifted, and by now you may have had the chance to realize how terrible at pong you are. ’16s, a good chunk of you have recently joined houses and have begun to hone your skills. ’15s, you have just finished sophomore summer, and will never be as good at pong as you are now, so make the most of it. ’14s, I don’t know what to say about you. Some of you are over stupid drinking games, but some of you are still at the top of your game, half-legendary at this point. Continue as you are. For those that still pursue pong, I hope you get to golden shrub some ’17s in the new year.
I wish everyone luck on their finals, and a Happy Thanksgivingukkah. Enjoy the long break. I am planning on doing nothing but sleep, watch television and go to the beach, because I’m from Southern California, the land of reasonable weather. I’m excited to connect with old friends, even if they don’t understand what I do at school. I continue to hold out hope that maybe, at the Sinclair Christmas party, an epic feast for 22 people, when the ping pong table gets set up and no small amount of scotch is consumed, maybe we’ll be able to start a family pong game.
