Canton Hall of fame 2005 social campion

Let me preface my story with a tale of my own doing:

I've seen and done a lot of strange things in my day. Most of them have occurred in the vicinity of a rugger or two and many during a rugby social. At my age, I've gone from the young punk, wet behind the ears doing what he must to keep up with older, more seasoned and knowledgeable teammates. I recall my first teapot. I was 18 and drunk as a skunk. My ride, Jamie Davidson left me there at the Waldo Fireman's Club and took off with his wife (thanks for that Jamie!) I was put under the wing of Rugby Rob to drive me home in what on the outside appeared to be a Jeep, once inside though, you soon learned it to be a recycling bin for soda cans and spitters. Rugby Rob managed to navigate the bin to my home safely despite discovering my Magellan-like ability to get people lost in the city I've lived my entire life. Still living at home with mom, I sat down to realize the room was spinning and that I better stand back up. I did finally make it to my room through what mommy later told me to be a barrage of crashes, bangs, bumps and trips. I woke up the next morning, got out of bed and stepped in a large puddle of piss. What a night!

Now I feel I've earned the right to recount the final moments of Caley Brooks at the '05 Canton Hall of Fame Social.

I suppose, as with most stories of this sort, everything started off honestly enough. In true Marion Fashion, we arrived first (following our slogan: arrive first, leave last. Lose the game, win the social.) The team was starving and needed to eat having doubled up on games by taking an extra spot in the tournament from ONU allowing us to play as many games as the winner of the tournament played in half the time. The food wasn't ready, the beer, on the other hand, was flowing. Since we had taken the ONU spot, we were given their allowance of beer tickets and be damned if they wouldn't all get used! Pitcher after pitcher arrived at the table with nothing better to do than start dropping quarters in each other's cups and making them chug. I know it seems dumb to say this but any rugger will tell you that social etiquette says you must drink it or wear it, so not looking to waste beer, most opt to drink.

We were finally allowed to eat. Thank God too because we were all starting to feel the beer and needed something to soak it up. After all had their fill, we began to migrate and mingle with the other ruggers of the tournament. Most found their way to a table playing "flip cup" (for those in need of explanation, this is a team drinking game where you chug beer, set the cup on the edge of a table and flip it upside down allowing the next player on your team to begin the process all over till one team finishes first. AKA "boat races") We had one player start playing, but after many failed attempts and the possibility of a lynching in the air, I stepped in and lined across from Caley. We each would choose how much we would drink when our turn arrived. Usually it was a quarter glass, sometimes half, sometimes a full beer. We both did pretty well individually, but in the end, Caley's team edged mine out.

Flip cup soon came to an end and it was back to dropping quarters. I stayed away from this activity and spent most time talking to players I hadn't seen in a while. Others indulged themselves in this game and apparently increased the stakes to not just chugging cups, but entire pitchers (I've seen this one other time at Ohio Northern where Mike Griffin learned the down side of drinking from a water jug.) An award of one of the other team's pitchers was given at the conclusion of such a feat since apparently 30 pitchers isn't enough for 10 guys! Caley made it through five of these competitions. I witnessed the last one with Campbell. He stuck his face in the pitcher and drank as much as he could coming up for air and spitting what he couldn't get down into a cup he was holding. Campbell, deciding he'd seen enough of the train wreck and told Caley to stop chugging the pitcher. Caley blew off the advice and continued in his quest to finish the pitcher.

Time passed by as Mike and I sat talking to players when word filtered through the air that Caley had passed out. Apparently, a rugger was waiting in line to use the port-a-john and decided that Caley was taking too long. Luckily, he didn't lock the door. He had passed out inside. The kind rugger politely drug him out and sat him on a crate so he could use the bathroom. He came back out to find him on the ground with police trying to wake him up. About this time, I found out what was going on and made my way over. He was hunched over on a chair with zero ability to control motor function and was still not responding.

So then the fire truck and ambulance arrived and brought a spot in Marion RFC infamy with it. Off he went on a stretcher bringing only his 17-year-old brother with him. We would later get the call to let us know that he was fine other than the catheter in his ass. Reports indicated a .27 blood-alcohol level, over three times the legal limit!

I've learned two things from this:

1. If you don't want to sleep in a tent in someone's back yard, you don't have too.

2. Having a bowel movement the old fashioned way is overrated.

Cost of tournament: $20

Cost of tournament t-shirt: $10

Cost of game of quarters: $.25

Passing out in port-a-john and sleeping off hangover at the hospital: priceless

Christopher W. Hoover

Marion RFC President