On devil dogs and dedication

Contrary to popular belief, most dogs go to hell. This is because most dogs are dicks. They piss all over everything but people let it slide because “they’re marking their territory.” Don’t try that defense with DUPD.

A week ago I started taking care of a yellow lab puppy because the frat I’m pledging told me to. I named him Satan’s Little Helper. They say you can learn a lot from keeping a dog. Loyalty. Dedication. The dangers of chocolate. But this column isn’t about avoiding diabetes or dog vom (keep your eyes peeled in March). It’s about the importance of dedication.

Dedication is the whole reason I got a bid to my fraternity. During rush when the fridge in section got too cold and froze all the Busch Lights we had stored up for our Vikings and Eskimos party, the older guys got furious and missed an opportunity to integrate the party theme into drink choices. (It’s the little things that make a good party.) So I cut the power chords to the fridge and hung them above the doorframe like a severed limb meant to warn other fridges not to start s*** with us. I know it sounds extreme, but if I hadn’t extracted violent revenge on that fridge, people would’ve spent the whole party bitching about it and our rush chairs would’ve lost their jobs a la 2008.

But it’s hard for most people to be as dedicated as me. This campus is packed with tempting distractions meant to lure us off our paths. It’s like Las Vegas except none of what happens here stays here. It usually ends up on Deadspin. Or Gawker. Or the NBC news. Just walk around West Union and you’ll be overcome by rush gossip pouring out of the Duke Barber or the clamor of Chick-fil-A’s “Fil-a-chick” pro-life rallies. But instead of obsessing over who got cut or who got a bump, we have to stay dedicated to the real reason we’re here: attending men’s basketball games.

My new brothers have forbidden us from wasting time at games when we could be drinking with hot chicks. “Cameron? That place is way too sober and nobody’s trying to grind,” they’d explain. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that when we lost some of the student section to ticket sales, the old dogs took a whiz all over our turf. So I’ve been painting myself up and sneaking into the games anyway because the heckling’s never been easier. St. John’s star is named God’s Gift? I hope God included the receipt.

I keep going on these incognito Cameron trips because if we lose any more seats, K-ville is gonna become as tired as Farmville. And I feel we owe it to Coach K to prevent that, because he just recently learned the dangers of Farmville firsthand. Duke might’ve beat Florida State if Ryan Kelly hadn’t been planting virtual strawberries in between free throws. I can forgive him though, because sometimes we all need a little bit of Coach K’s sweet encouragement.

Late on the first night of pledging my judgment got particularly hazy and I began to doubt my decision to accept my bid. I looked at the picture of Coach K I keep encircled in candles on my nightstand, and from the other side of the glass his face whispered to me, “Don’t give up dude. There’s gonna be hot bitties waiting for you at the end of this. And those bitties will be even hotter because of all the gross stuff you have to eat and smear on your body. Seriously man, trust me.” His reassuring words rang in my head the entirety of the next day as I kicked a box of silverware up the Plaza.

This may be the hardest time of year. You’ve got to finish papers for your teachers, tenting shifts for your friends and entire jars of mayonnaise for your brothers. So what can you do on days when there’s both a basketball game and a mixer? Do both. It doesn’t matter whether it’s spittin’ or dribbling, you gotta stay dedicated to the game.