My best friend from HS was in a frat. I can't remember the name of the frat, but it was called the 'Paddy Murphy" party. In that frat, a particular pledge (#x out of y total pledges) is deemed to be "Paddy Murphy". I was told it was quite an honor to be Paddy Murphy, and an honor for me to raise my glass in toast with him, which I did. They proceed to make Paddy Murphy drink all day (on some day of significance to that frat), and when he eventually passes out, they bury him at some special place on campus (their equivalent of our drill field).

That's right. In a box like a casket in a hole like a grave. There was a PVC pipe put in for air. The next morning, they dig him back up, vomit and all, and he's carried about on their shoulders for having been a great "Paddy Murphy" that year.

I don't know why, but the frat hasn't been allowed to do that anymore for a long time now.

I witnessed this in 1982, and it was magnificent. What a party. My best bud from HS met his future ex-wife at that party. I woke up in my boxers at nearby "Salve Regina" girls college, in a Vanderbilt mansion, on a velvet couch. Alone. Clothes folded neatly by my side on the floor. No, I never fold my clothes like that. No, I don't remember a thing.

I like the Rams. I remember being at that party, and a new friend pointed out one of their football players. "That guy right there is the largest player in all of NCAA football!" I looked at him and said, "He's half the size of 3 football players in my (McBryde) Wednesday class. And they've not even linemen." (This was when Bruuuuce was roaming around our campus).

LOL
True story, all.

I'm waxing nostalgic. I may have to call my URI friend this week.