Davenport

All is not calm, however. The ground trembles. The water-juice in our dining hall cups trembles ominously. The Frisbee players in the courtyard take a 10-second break to discuss the matter, but promptly resume play. Even the gnome looks skyward in concern. There, in the distance, a gargantuan form rises from the earth. Its mountainous size casts a dark shadow on our Georgian courtyard. Lumbering forward, just now on the other side of Thanksgiving break, looms the winter season. Crushing sloth, apathy, and dreams of productivity as it draws near, the season means business.

Davenport stands ready, arms akimbo, hurling insults in the general direction of winter and taunting its mother. With luck, its anger will play right into our hands. We thrive on adversity. Give us a season that plays us for the underdog and blows its nose with our efforts, and we'll be truly impassioned. Our blood will boil hot with pride—or broken radiators—and we will reach our destiny of seventh place, or maybe even higher.

And while we wait for this fateful day to come, we won't bide our time idly. Indeed, the halls are abuzz with talk of preparation. Sweaty, shirtless men, mostly from Entry-way G, can be seen at all hours training hard for the coming months of solitude. The diehard members of the water polo team are already dropping pounds by wearing rubber suits and nibbling on ice cubes. Copies of Michael Jordan's inspirational new book have been distributed to the B- and C-hoops teams. Even our writing tutor is composing nasty limericks about the other colleges. Fall was just a warmup. Now we will compete using our right hands. Bring on winter.

(Compiled by the exterminator, in lieu of dealing with the Davenport opossum issue.)

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