How did you get into throwing wine and cheese parties?

I got into wine and cheese parties because I got tired of the usual fundraiser party. Living in my dorm, that’s really all I knew about that year. So I decided to establish my superiority by throwing wine and cheese parties in my room. Soon, other people were walking by and looking enviously at the wine and cheese. Of course, I would deny them the right to participate. It was a status symbol, really.

How often would you throw these parties?

Every Wednesday around 9 or 10 p.m. But once the wine and cheese became free, it was probably a bit more often.

Why did the wine and cheese become free?

The wine and cheese was complimentary because I stole it from the fine establishment known as Whole Foods. The habit started one day when I wanted a Pink Lady Apple and the line was out the door. I just decided to walk right out the door with it — it was like an Oliver Twist apple — and after that I decided I would just steal everything I saw, ever.

Did you eventually get caught?

Yes. It was my friend’s birthday and I wanted to throw a fantastic wine and cheese party. But I got a little greedy — I was a little hubris that day — and didn’t adhere to my strategy that carefully. So on my way out, a security guard stopped me and escorted me into the back room, where chaos ensued.

How did Whole Foods handle the situation?

It was really bizarre. It kind of had the feel of a dark comedy. I didn’t really take the whole thing seriously, and they thought the situation was silly. They only called the police because I had stolen over $100 worth of items. I think it was something like $101.

The manager was shocked, though. He wondered why someone who went to such a nice, expensive university would need to steal food. He asked if I couldn’t afford it and I told him that wasn’t the case — I just enjoyed doing it. So he began to empty my bag and admired the cheese and wine I had stolen. He liked the way I had paired them, the way the cheese complemented the wine. He turned to me and said, “Good taste, poor choices.” If my life were a movie, that’d be the tag line.

How would you recommend other students throw wine and cheese parties?

Purchase it. Don’t steal it. Do research online. I first found cheese that I really liked or wine that I really liked. Then I would go online and figure out what went well with that particular wine or cheese. These days, a lot of wine bottles actually recommend a cheese or a dish that will complement the taste of the wine. I know Whole Foods, World Market and Wine Styles will all give you recommendations if you ask.

Should you always keep wine and cheese parties elitist?

Not necessarily. It would be a great way to unwind with friends on Dillo Day. There are places where you can find really cheap wine. The Big Red Monster is a good one. Black Box actually makes a surprisingly good boxed wine. It’s about $20 and holds around four bottles. EV1 sells both of those.

Would you steal again?

No. I’m not going to risk getting arrested again. I’m actually banned from Whole Foods, but I still go in there sometimes with a hat on, to purchase a few things. I definitely don’t go in there with a bag, though. I don’t want them to single me out from the get-go.

[Clarification: The original article did not disclose that the anonymous source is friends with the writer. North by Northwestern regrets the error.]

Now, you might be thinking, “Ryan, I’ve seen those chrome-domed 50-year-olds at The Keg, and I don’t like them, either.” No, no, that’s not my issue. In fact, I think every bar should have some of those guys. Want a free drink? Just start stroking the braided beard of the guy in the tattered leather jacket.

Really, my main complaint with The Keg is a group of girls that I call “The Watchers.” If you aren’t already too laced-up on those $6 beer pitchers, you might notice these girls standing atop the back tables like drunken giraffes, delicately sipping on their Long Islands while simultaneously trying to pull down their skimpy dresses every time a guy with a braided beard walks by. Yes, like the creepy cat-killing man in This American Life, The Watchers are only interested in one thing: being seen.

There are a few things — the aforementioned giraffes, for one, and perhaps even a few health code violations — that you must ignore altogether if you want to have a good time at The Keg. Sure, the bar can be fun, but why go every week when there is an entire safari of wildlife to be found in the bars of Chicago? If you want to expand your bar-animal horizons, here are three other classy venues (and of course, their respective exotic wildlife).

Prost!
2566 N. Lincoln Ave

Don’t let Prost!’s spartan interior scare you away. Grab a seat on one of the wooden benches and order yourself “Das Boot.” That’s right, a full 2-liter glass of authentic German beer. And if your stomach can handle it, be sure to order some of their delicious German food. The soft pretzel is a must.
Animal of choice: The dangerous DePaul grad student.

The Violet Hour
1520 N. Damen Ave.

From the outside, The Violet Hour looks like a rundown warehouse without a sign in sight. But inside, the darkened, fairy tale-like interior lives up to its hip Wicker Park location. You don’t go to The Hour for the decor — it’s the drinks that are out of sight. Bartenders — who go by mixologists here — conjure up some of the most unique and best-tasting drinks in the city.
Animal of choice: The elusive, thirty-something socialite.

The Pump Room
1301 N. State Pkwy.

Famed for being Frank Sinatra’s old hangout, The Pump Room retains that classic 1950s feel. While a meal here can be a bit pricey for those on a college budget, it’s a great after-dinner bar for you and your date. The drinks are fantastic, but the Sinatra-reminiscent band is even better. Even though they’ve recently relaxed their jacket policy, it’s still a fun bar to get dressed up for. Perhaps a great post-formal location?
Animal of choice: The prowling, after-hours executive.

Of course, The Keg is only a few blocks away, and, for most people, I realize that the giraffes are only a minor drawback to its beautifully beer-and-disease-glossed floors and odorous, graffiti-infested bathrooms. I’m certainly not going to drive the giraffes to extinction — so if you do end up at The Keg, just ignore them along with the rest of the atrocities.

Women in enormous hats sip on expensive mixed drinks. Men in polished seersucker suits puff on fresh cigars. And as horses race around the track at Kentucky’s famous Churchill Downs, they cheer in a refined manner, as if they were royalty.

If this is what you imagine the Kentucky Derby is like, you’re dead wrong. The infield — or the cheap seats — is where most Derby-goers experience the day’s races. Many of these infielders won’t see a single horse. Yes, they’ve come in the hopes of winning bets on some horses, but most will end up staying because they are too debilitatingly intoxicated to find the exit gate. This is the Kentucky Derby underground: As the wealthy elite sit comfortably in the grandstands, the infielders engage in a full-on, social-class riot. And as you would expect for poor college students, this is where you’ll find a few hundred of your Northwestern pals.

The infield, a large patch of grass and mud that is surrounded by the racetrack, is only accessible by a few tunnels. As I entered the darkened tunnel at 10 a.m., shirtless men of all shapes and sizes were stumbling around, chanting, “U-S-A, U-S-A!” Clearly, the drinking had already begun.

My partners in crime and I walked through the crowd with fold-up chairs upon our backs in search of a spot to set up camp. Along the way, one of my slightly intoxicated friends decided to acquaint himself with the army of police personnel ahead of us. “You always want to be on the good side of the law,” he remarked. He walked right up to an officer in uniform and stuck out his hand. “Good to have you here, sir.”

Without missing a beat, the officer grabbed my friend’s hand and immediately brought it up to his nose. “Have you been smoking weed?” the officer inquired. “You need to get out of here right now.”

My friend denied the charge, retreated his hand and quickly walked away. He hadn’t smoked anything. By all accounts, the law enforcement in the infield was not here to take matters lightly, nor enjoy the pleasure of a firm handshake.

After we set up our gear, we were greeted by a young, sloppily dressed guy who extended his hand and introduced himself as “Four-Fingered Billy.” His introduction helpfully gave me a moment to figure out where to place my pinky finger as I shook his hand, because he seemed to be missing his. Four-Fingered Billy said that if we really wanted a good time, we’d better head to turn three. (At the Derby, people use the turns of the racetrack to mark the location of important things such as a food stand or a mud pile.) He had been there earlier and it was, in his opinion, “where the party was at.”

When my friends and I made it to the third turn, we reached a Mardi Gras party on steroids, with little dashes of ecstasy. Surprisingly, this was where all of the awkward Northwestern students took up post. Our chapter of Sigma Alpha Epsilon, I found out, brought students to the Downs via charter bus for about $150 per person. This apparently did not cover the cost of $7 beers, as I was asked repeatedly by a handful of students to buy them “just one more round, bro.” In hindsight, it perhaps wasn’t a good idea to wear my bright, purple Northwestern shirt.

When not drinking, some people in the third turn did obscene things for beads while others, including a few Northwesterners, rolled around in the dirt playing mud ball. This rarely heard about sport, similar to soccer, involves a ball and a lot of intoxicated infielders. There is no point system, so no one wins — they mostly jump, slide and scream for no reason whatsoever. And, hey, it entertains them for hours.

But when the infielders sober up enough to realize that they’re actually at the biggest horse race in the world, they gather around the large monitors scattered about the infield to watch the Run for the Roses, the biggest race of the day.

This year, favorite Big Brown took home the title. However, a sobering moment occurred when we found out that Eight Belles, the horse which finished second in the race, collapsed just after crossing the finish line and broke both of her front ankles. She was euthanized on the spot.

In shock, we packed up our things and headed for exit tunnels. We couldn’t help but think that horse racing can be such a cruel sport for these animals.

As we reached the exit gates, a man shouted out in frustration from behind me. “Darn it! I didn’t see any boobies today! Someone give me some beads so I can see me some boobies!”

I was quickly reminded that this was the infield, where seersucker-less drunkards not only have no time for feelings, but no time for dignified class either. But it was also at that moment I realized that sitting in the infield is not about class and it’s most certainly not about money. These people –Northwestern students included — make fools out of themselves here. In the end, this social-class riot is not a class war of superiority, but a full-on battle for people to have the time of their lives on one sunny, Saturday afternoon each year. And if that’s what it’s really all about, you’ll be sure to find me at the next social class riot in 2009.

In my time at Northwestern, I haven’t learned a thing from my classes except the meaning of life from my Russian Literature professor. And what am I going to do with that? Write a book or something? Don’t think so. Luckily, parties have taught me something I can use on an everyday basis: how to party harder.

So I’d like to impart the knowledge my friends and I have learned while partying. I think it might be useful for you too.

10. Just like a cheap hooker who tells you she’s on birth control when she’s really not, the bottle of Grey Goose that frat boy is holding is actually full of Smirnoff. Don’t worry, no sorority girl will notice. It’s cheaper that way.

9. Throwing a “let’s get written up” party in your dorm room at 10 a.m. does not amuse the administration.

8. If you find yourself at a trivia night in a Chicago bar, you’ll probably beat the crap out of those DePaul graduate students in categories such as the “History of the Dalai Lama” and “French New Wave Cinema,” no matter how intoxicated you may be. You won’t, however, beat them at topics such as “NASCAR” and “Pornography of the 1970s.”

7. If you drink only red wine for the entire night and then throw up, your inebriated friends will think there’s some sort of internal bleeding and attempt to call 911. Assure them that while you’re no internalist, you think you’ll be fine.

6. So you want to get drinks into an outdoor concert that doesn’t allow drinks. As you long as they allow food, the only thing you have to do is bake a glass bottle into a loaf of bread. When the bread is finished baking, fill it with your favorite booze. Seriously, no one checks the bread.

5. No, stumbling into Tech after a night of drinking is not a good idea. It quickly becomes Satan’s maze of hell, a place you won’t escape from until the next morning.

4. Pouring two bottles of Everclear into one cooler of jungle juice is not overkill. It’s smart, conservative thinking. Not only will you use less juice powder, but your guests will be too blacked out after one cup to make enough noise to warrant a neighborly call to the cops.

3. Despite what you may think, the person next to you wants to hook up with someone just as much as you do. If they don’t, they probably live in PARC or Slivka.

2. The Evanston Police do not care if you’re trying to “sleep” at your friend’s kegger, they will still threaten to give you a $500 fine for refusing to cooperate with law enforcement.

1. Drunkenly shouting the lyrics to that new Flo-rida song won’t get you laid at that frat party. Drunkenly shouting the lyrics to a Sondheim musical at a theatre fundraising party will.

So hold these truths to your heart, Northwestern. And remember: Just because you’re paralyzingly intoxicated doesn’t mean you can’t learn something important about yourself too.

In fact, freshmen as party favors have an interesting history in this country. The year was 1787. After a long, brutal day, the delegates of the Constitutional Convention finally signed the Constitution and were ready to relax. Ben Franklin happily invited them over to his house for little shebang. But later after that night, Ben Franklin realized his “Constitutional Pros and Congressional Hoes” party was slowly winding to a close. Not wanting the delegates to forget the day they established the rules for an entire fucking country, Ben thought he should let the them take home something to remember the occasion. Luckily, his house was right next to Hundo’s original Pennsylvania location and plenty of boys and girls were just beginning to pour out of the bar.

Ben proclaimed to the freshman (the act of proclaiming was big back then) to come and join the festivities at his house. And after luring the freshman to his house with Sour Patch Kids, a treat which no freshman can resist, he paired the freshman off with delegates leaving the party.

Now, you might be thinking that freshman are only be good for one thing: being annoying. You’re wrong. With freshman by their side, the delegates enjoyed long walks on the beach, flower picking, kite flying, napping, tree climbing, tree hugging, anal sex, finger painting and playing Nintendo Wii. In the end, the delegates enriched their lives in more ways than one while the impressionable and quick-to-please freshman became more or less slaves.

Now you might be thinking, “Hey, we live in the 21st century. Isn’t human trafficking illegal?” Well, yes and no. While it is illegal to traffic sophomores, juniors and seniors, there is loophole in the law that allows the trafficking of freshman. As long as you don’t mercilessly beat them, there shouldn’t be any problems.

So next time you have a party and think you’re too good to invite freshman to your “seniors only” celebration, think again. Freshman have a lot to offer. Your guests will go home with a constant reminder of not only your amazing party, but their own toddlerhood as well. You can thank Ben Franklin for that.

Don’t follow? Let me try and explain. Whenever I, for example, find myself at a party and engaged in a conversation with a girl that is going sour, I simply take off all my clothes. Typically, the girl runs off in fright and my awkward situation is solved. On top of that, I’m naked and that’s always a bundle of fun.

However, I realize readers should never believe a single thing a professional journalist like myself says. So, I decided to take to the streets in search of students who could show the other thirty-nine percent of Northwestern that naked partying can be an immensely exciting adventure.

One day at the Rock, I was fortunate enough to meet a student who prefers to be called “Tim” in this article so you won’t know his real name is Jake Marvin (20, McCormick ’10, lives in Delta Upsilon, made-up). One night after partying, Tim woke up to find himself completely naked in a Ridge and Davis apartment. For you North Campus readers, Ridge and Davis is a party-rific South Campus block of apartments for those wishing to get mugged and/or stabbed immediately after they leave a party. Luckily for Tim, he was being safely cuddled by a naked girl whose name he never quite got.

Naked and confused to how he ended up at such a place, Tim chose to do the polite thing any male in a similar situation would do: run. Not wanting to awaken Miss Cuddly Nude Girl, Tim delicately removed himself from the bed to search for his clothes only to find that his clothes had been completely torn to shreds by Ridge and Davis’ notorious rats. If you haven’t seen these animals, they are roughly the size of a full grown German Shepherd and capable of devouring feral cats and underdeveloped children. They aren’t things to fool around with.

Nevertheless, Tim was determined to get back to his comfy room on North Campus. Unfortunately, a winter snow blizzard had just hit Northwestern’s campus and streaking back home was definitely out of the question. But being the MacGyver that all engineering students are, Tim went into Miss Cuddly Nude Girl’s closet and picked out some threads. After rummaging around for some cute BCBG Max Azria tops, darling Bebe bottoms and adorable earrings from Claire’s, Tim was ready for his long walk of shame back north.

Due to the early hour of the morning — 1 p.m. — on this chilly Saturday, most Northwestern students were thankfully still sleeping. But when Tim arrived back at his fraternity, he found himself greeted by numerous alumni who had driven in to oversee the initiation of the fraternity’s newest pledge class. Thinking Tim was a woman trying to gain access to the top secret initiation ceremony, the alumni proceeded to beat his ass.

Thirty-two stitches and a collapsed lung later, Tim still finds that he has some trouble breathing. But fortunately, each paralyzingly painful breath acts as a constant reminder of the night that will define Tim’s Northwestern experience: the time he woke up naked. So Northwestern, if you, like Tim, want to leave here with memories that last a lifetime and parties that are endlessly fun, start getting naked tonight. Tim and I both highly recommend it.

Oh, and in keeping with the example set by Medill Dean John Lavine, all the records of my interview with Tim have been completely lost. Please, don’t ask me about them.

Nevertheless, I was intrigued by the promise of their spectacle — it would be like seeing the Komodo dragon at the Shedd Aquarium, elusive yet dangerous. I arrived to find that I was already too unfashionably late. Yes, the party was well on its way. It was 4 p.m.

Looking around at these wild animals, I saw something different: something odd, yet interesting. At Northwestern, we like to think that a ratio of handles to people is good at around 1:15, give or take a few. At state schools, they do their fractions a little differently. For them, I noticed that a ratio of about 1:1 seemed to be a little more appropriate.

Why, you might ask? Because for state schoolers, the game of choice is not a childish round of beer pong or flippy-dippy cup, but a short-lived game called “everybody-get-a-handle-and-when-I-say-go-see-how-long-you-can-chug-it-for.” Fascinating creatures, I know.

After another rousing game of “let’s-see-how-many-cigarettes-we-can-put-out-on-people’s-hands-before-they-notice,” everyone was either passed out or put on an AMBER Alert. The party had finally come to a decisive conclusion.

The following day, I sat in my microeconomics class and pondered the consequences of such an event. What does it mean when insignificant groundlings come to our house and show us how to party? How disrespectful, right? Are our students not capable of such debauchery?

To be honest, I think we are. This is why I put a challenge out to President Henry Bienen, a man whose job is — in part — cultivating Northwestern’s prestigious image. Really, what’s a better way to do that than fixing our lacking party scene? We have Ivy League academics, why not lecherous state school partying? After all, we want to be well-rounded students.

I know, many of you will say that Bienen is just as dedicated to Northwestern as any NU student — but yet, he is also one of the few I’ve never seen at a theatre fundraising party. Do you call that dedication? I think not.

Yes, Bienen, I invite you to come out and party with us. You’ll see all of our pros and cons. You may even see why we’re not a Top 10 school according to U.S News and World Report. And then, just maybe then, you’ll realize that the money spent to build another J-school in Qatar was money that could have gone into an initiative that I have taken the liberty of titling, “Handles for Examples.”

Basically, it’s a program in which the university buys every student a handle of their choice and then sets the example that private institutions can too party like a state school. After doing some math, it seems that such a program could potentially increase our applicant pool by millions, if not trillions. And with Bienen’s retirement date quickly approaching, I think an all-night rager should be in place with the people who make the school that you get a paycheck from: the students.

Photo by destinelee on Flickr, licensed under Creative Commons.

Do consider alcohol delivery. EV1 is kind enough to deliver alcohol to you, which is much appreciated. There’s a delivery fee built in, but don’tskimp on the tip. The delivery guy is freezing so you don’t have to be, so the least you can do is kick in another couple bucks.

Do wear a coat. Yes, there’s a chance you’ll lose it at the party but you’ve got to at least try not to die. If you’re that worried about losing it, wear a coat you don’t care about. But don’t wear a hat, mittens or a scarf; you don’t really need them, and they’re going to get lost or stolen within minutes of your arrival. Do put your coat in a more specific place than “on the coat pile.” Stowing it under furniture, in a different room, etc., will save you precious minutes searching when you could be hooking up with the hottie waiting for you at the door.

Don’t leave anything in your pockets. And I mean anything. For as rich as half of Northwestern kids are, we sure are fond of stealing wallets and cigarettes from coat pockets. Kleptos, all of you.

Don’t let the weather dampen your regular party-going outfits. You’ll probably look dumb in a dress, high heels or any other really-dressed-up-for-no-reason attire, but a party is still a party. With tons of people exchanging body heat in a small space look forward to some sweaty times if you insist on wearing that turtleneck. Plus, how will you ever find that pseudo-special someone to keep you warm in bed if your goods are flying under the cable-knit radar? If you must wear a sweater, at least wear a short-sleeve number underneath.

Do get rides wherever you can. SafeRide’s a good bet, but it takes forever and is technically not a taxi service (whatever, administration). Don’t get stuck waiting an hour for SafeRide when you’re ready to go. Cough up some cash and split a cab. It’s under $10 to get home from party central. Pile four kids in the car and get ready to pay two bucks in order to refrain from freezing. Your friends with cars probably do not want to drive, but if the wait for SafeRide is too long, you have no cash for a cab and you don’t care about getting wasted, then do offer to DD.

Do choose your parties carefully. Even the walk between Ridge and Davis, and Ridge and Church, can seem too far when we’re in the sub-zeros. Consider doing some research before you leave the house to see where the most party potential lies: where your close friends are going, where you’ll feel the worst about not attending, where your secret crush may be at — stuff like that.

If you really don’t see a point in going out, don’t feel bad about staying in. A lot of people make that choice, making most parties less crowded once the wind chill kicks in. Catch up on TV, read a book or follow the first piece of advice: get alcohol delivered and get drunk with your roommates instead. Major bonding time, guys.

1. The Creepy Older Guy
Entertainment Factor: Medium. Very low if you are a girl with big eyes/boobs.
Description: The COG is the Trip McNeely, the Wooderson of the party scene. No one knows how he got there, who he knows there or whether he was even an alum; but sure enough, he’s there. You hardly ever see a Creepy Older Girl, and for good reason — girls know not to chase younger ass. Even though the word “creepy” is built into his name, the COG is still good for a laugh now and then. Making him feel as old as possible is the only real way to get him to vacate the premises. That, or forcing one of your friends to take one for the team and sleep with him.
Hookup Probability: Technically high, but seriously, don’t do it. Sleeping with the COG is almost as bad as sleeping with a prospie. Almost.

2. The Loud Girl with Questionable Self-Esteem
Entertainment Factor: High.
Description: This girl is wasted, guaranteed. She’s probably drinking away some feelings, and is always six decibels louder than everyone else at even the loudest of parties, and has literally no idea. She wants you to think that she can drink you under the table, but during those all-too-frequent trips to the bathroom, she’s pouring half of her drink down the sink so she can continue to flirt with the guy by the keg. She listens to Kelly Clarkson, natch. Some may find her annoying, but she’s always good for a laugh because she’ll probably fall at least once.
Hookup Probability: Very high. Because of that questionable self-esteem, you can probably take her home. Where you’ll listen to more Kelly Clarkson, natch.

3. The Beer Pong Enthusiast
Entertainment Factor: Low. High if you, too, are a Beer Pong Enthusiast.
Description: He means business. If there’s no beer pong, he’ll set it up. Some people carry a pack of cigarettes; he carries a pack of ping pong balls. No table? No problem. He’ll probably just practice against a wall or, better yet, work on his accuracy by sinking into cups of whatever people are drinking. Let’s be honest, he’s probably in a frat or wishes he were, but didn’t have his “game on” during rush. The BPE can often be spotted — no joke — praying over his ping pong ball before the last cup.
Hookup Probability: Low. He can’t be disturbed, and if he loses the game, he’ll probably be too depressed to go home with you anyway. Although, you might have better chances if you shave your pubic hair into a cup triangle. He might be down with that.

4. The Fighting Couple
Entertainment Factor: Medium.
Description: They’re your on-again-off-again friends, but the on and off changes every hour or so when they’re drinking. Sometimes, they’re fun to watch, but if you make eye contact with either one by accident — even for a second — you’ll probably get dragged straight into that drama. They’re best left to their own devices: Screaming at each other in the alley, or making up with a little make-out sesh in the corner of the dance floor. Tears abound.
Hookup Probability: High. If you pounce during an “off” phase, you’re the perfect warm body to dry his/her tears and kiss away his/her pain. Ain’t nothing wrong with being the innocent half of revenge sex. Try not to ever run into the other half of the couple though, because they won’t be as kind to you. Also, get ready to hear a lot about the other half before, during and after your hookup.

5. The Uncontrollable Bodily Function
Entertainment Factor: High. Extremely low if you are hosting the party.
Description: The UBF is not for the weak of heart or the strong of mind. This is low-brow comedy at its best. This lad or lady is that barely-standing reveler with slurred speech and spastic movement — you can even make a quick buck guessing just when they’re going to pass out. Unfortunately, the UBF comes with a high price to the hosts of the shindig, as both pee and vomit smell for days and leave a weird sort of stain that has to get explained away with an “Oh, that stain you’re sitting on? Actually, it’s kind of a funny story…” As always, make sure this kid has a walking partner to get home. The bushes start to look awfully comfortable when you’re three steps from puking your lungs out.
Hookup Probability: Don’t even bother. Even after they’ve made it through the darkest of their times, they’ll probably still smell bad and have a little crust on their person.

A product of drinking in our New Jersey basement circa 4 a.m. in late December, “Innies and Outies” could have been brushed off as a drunken, confusing fluke. But after several rounds between myself, my brother and our friends Aron, Gina, and Zuz, the game became more than just a fluke. It became a straight-up battle.

Game: Innies and Outies

Similar to: Beer Pong

Supplies:

4 people - 2 per team (plus one optional “Backboard Kid”)
1 table
1 chair (or other table. or the ground.)
19 Solo cups
2 ping pong balls

The setup. Illustration by North by Northwestern.

Setup:
1. Each team sets up their seven cups in a honeycomb formation - one cup in the middle (the innie) and six cups surrounding it (the outies).
2. Two cups go in the center of the table, about two cups’ width apart in a line - these are your bonus cups.
3. Another two cups serve as standard water cups.
4. Finally, one cup goes on a chair far from the table. This is your Endgame Cup. Fill all the cups halfway with beer, besides the water cups, obvs.

Gameplay:
Like beer pong, each team takes turns shooting at the cup formation opposite them. However, in this game, you only want to get the ball in the center cup. If you hit the innie, your opponent must take one of your outies out of play and drink the beer. If you hit any of the outies, you must drink down that cup, put the cup back into formation and then fill it with beer again. Thus, if you continuously sink the innie, you’ll get all of your outies taken out of play and win the game. If you continuously sink the outies, you will keep drinking and drinking until somehow, you start hitting the innie.

Now, for the bonus cups. Every time you miss the table without your ball even touching the cups (referred to as “rimming” or “teasing”), you must drink one of the bonus cups in the center of the table. Play continues if there is one bonus cup in the center, but when a team misses and has to drink the second bonus cup, the other team gets 4 shots on their next turn as opposed to 2. After taking the bonus shots, both bonus cups come back into play and the game continues. Having those extra shots comes in handy though, if you want to…go for the Endgame Cup.

The Endgame Cup is extremely hard to make and you shouldn’t bother wasting a regular turn trying to hit it as you will most likely miss completely and end up drinking a bonus cup. However, if you have an extra shot, you can take a no-penalty try for the Endgame Cup.

As the name implies, if either team sinks the Endgame cup, the game ends and the other team drinks all of the remaining beer on the table. If you’d like to shoot for the Endgame, you must turn to your Backboard Kid and say, “Zuz, I’d like to end the game, please.” The Backboard Kid then completes his sole function - to retrieve the ball should the Endgame shot go haywire (note: The Backboard Kid is only necessary when playing in a space with lots of crevices, like a basement).

After one team clears all their cups, the other team has one chance to hit the Endgame Cup. If they are able to, the game starts over. If not, the game ends and they drink everything left in their cups.

It’s slightly confusing, but I think you will find it superior to beer pong. You can’t leave this to pure luck — if you’re not a sureshot, you’ll be drinking twice as much as planned. The game is best suited for smaller parties because it can keep going for a long time.

“Innies and Outies” in a nutshell: Hit the innies, eliminate the outies, don’t whiff the table and take a chance on the Endgame cup.

You’ll get used to it.