There comes a time in most college mens’ lives where the lure of the sophomoric, crude, base, drunken exploits they once enjoyed each and every night greys, loses its luster, and ultimately is discontinued to persue other ventures, such as a career. It’s just the way it goes, Peter Pan. Not that the post-graduate can’t tie a few on, but for the most part, the zeal of gamesmanship is usually lost, broken up by the occasional tail gate, charity beer pong tournament, or a younger sibling’s college visit. The need to bro-out, find bropanionship, or commit any number of bro-activities, most likely of which the bro-grab (read: hug)…well, that fades into mellowed memory.
But I have to say this is something I can get behind. Hello, sophomore year. I’ve missed you.
It’s called “icing” and, apparently, it’s the new hotness. The point is to challenge and thusly force another unsuspecting fellow (read: bro) to chug a Smirnoff Ice – the undisputed champion of girlygirl drinkies – on the spot. The contender must then take a knee and drink it, unless he also happens to have a clandestine Ice hidden away, with which he can Ice block, forcing the challenger to drink his own Ice, which according to the Icing constitution, is the worst of all possible Ice-related insults.
Now, I hear some of you on the other end of the interweb saying Hold on there, Zachary! This is little more than one person walking up to another and challenging them to drink heavily! That’s not creative; it’s just plain stupid! Harumph! You have a point, prudish-reader, but you don’t have to sqwak it so annoyingly. Stop being such a douche nozzle. The real point of the game is the creativity with which one challenges or “ices” the contender. Purchasing the fruity alcopop at your local dive bar watering hole and brutishly walking up to another man and making him drink it is just stupid. What a meathead, I would retort.
The more unexpected, the better. There are a few examples of this here:
At the office? You’ve been ICED!
On a road trip? You’ve been ICED!
Baking a cake? You’ve been ICED (DOUBLE ICING? DOUBLE ICING!)!
Going to the restroom? You’ve been IIIIICED!
I’d like to offer some suggestions of my own:
- I have a former (ONCE A BRO ALWAYS A BRO, BRO!) bro of mine from college graduating from graduate school this weekend. I suggested to him that he hide a Smirnoff Ice in his long, flowy robe and ice the male standing directly behind him as the former’s name is called. That way, that unsuspecting graduate will have to take a bow and drink prior to receiving his diploma, while the challenger receives his, grinning from ear to ear, no doubt. That’d be the most epic of ice blocks, though, however unlikely.
- I’m a fun guy. Accordingly, whenever my time comes to die, I want my funeral to be a fun, happening occasion. A funeral ice would be…well, it’d be mind-boggling. Good luck finding a family that’s cool with that. I’d suggest looking in New Orleans. Them Cajuns are crazy.
- I’m big into rec. league softball right now. I play center field because I’m ridiculously fast (and because I’m portly, it’s funny to watch me run). Let’s say the second baseman was up to bat and gets the third out on a ground ball. It’s common courtesy to grab that player’s mitt when taking the field, rather than making him go all the way back and grab it himself. You better believe next time that happens, and I’m on my way to CF, that second baseman is going to find a mittful of Smirnoff Ice.
(h/t Steve Lattimer)