Stories

The Reason Why Daniel "Shy" Chazin won the "Erickson/Skippy Memorial Award for Excellence in Belligerent Captainship" Award as determined by 3 acts committed during the 2007-2008 Season
We all know Shy to be a grumpy old man, however these events defined him as the crank of the year:

1. Upon getting hit in the face by another player, calling injury, and then being told to get off the field by a rookie SLO guy and then arguing about the rules for 5 minutes at Sandwich Day, Shy grabs the disc and screams, "GODDAMNIT ARE WE GOING TO SIT HERE AND BITCH ABOUT THE FUCKING RULES OR ARE WE GOING TO FUCKING PLAY...SHIT!"

2. Upon layout Ding a SLO guy at Sandwich Day and getting called for a foul, he screamed in his face, "FUCK YOU, MAN!"

3. While at Regionals, an observer approaches the team before a game against UCSD and tells Stout that the Brains should go black, immediately the response from Shy was to get up and scream, "GODDAMNIT, WHO THE FUCK SAYS WE HAVE TO ADHERE TO THESE RULES? WE DON'T HAVE TO USE AN OBSERVER! WHERE DO IT SAY THAT IN THE RULES? YOU GO BLACK!" to which Levere comments, "Juuuust a bit outside."

Statements by Brian "Haddock" Hui

"The fact that aristotle's observations and organization of fundamental ethical metaphysics has stood immutable for 2500 years, to the great embarrassment of pretty much every philosopher since, is a pretty strong indication that anyone without a reasonable (not an coincidental use of the term) argument for denigrating him on this listserve needs to brush up. simply attending one of the claremont colleges does not entitle you to offhandedly trash on all intellectual subjects with impunity. aristotle not only originated but best articulated the concept of "bitching fools." i bet if we could swing him as a coach he would lead the brains to domination of everything from here to the indus river valley.
ill call you on that shit. i dont even care what the original context of the discussion was."

Haddock

(Upon seeing a guy with a nickname "God" on his jersey biff a pull)
"Someone should teach god how to pull..."

- Haddock

Stories by Michael Stout

I just thought I'd throw out a few names: Jeff Cruickshank, Mike Grant, Alex Nord, Josh Zipperstein. Do you think these guys spent their winter breaks with their thumbs up their anuses while watching their cocks get smaller? I think not. Let's do this workout.


Ultimately, what it comes down to is that if one doesn't sign up for CATZ, then they are a big pussy, in which case they are better off working at Initech to begin with.


Jesus titi-fucking christ, you want to con-fucking-dition to-fucking-morrow? Are you insane? I can't feel my legs, my face is on fire from the sun, and I have lesions over half my left side, not to mention my right shin feels like someone jammed an icepick through the shinbone lengthwise. You are all fucking crazy.



This is one is important
Ah, Long Tall Glasses. It began not unlike any other night. It promised to be a night of joy and merrymaking. I sauntered up to watch Disc 3 with my fellow cohorts, but skipped dinner in the process, which I assumed wouldn't come back to bite me in the ass, but as we all know, assumptions make an ass out of you and umption. Nevertheless I enjoyed the movie and a couple Downtown Browns before rolling over to the LTG party with my homies Joaq and Alex. Upon arriving there they both went to Joaq's room together, presumably to hand-pump each other (partying can be a stressful business), leaving me to find something to occupy my time while by myself at a party serving alcohol and no line. One full and incredibly stiff gin 'n' tonic later Alex and Joaq appeared, looking very relaxed and satisfied, and we conclude that champagne would be a fine beverage. Five cups of champagne later, I am pondering the wisdom of that beverage choice while discussing improvements on marking with Alex.

Quick update: 5 cups of champagne, not totally full=4 cups. One cup of champagne (12% alcohol)=3 cups of beer. Thus: 2 Downtown Browns, one extremely stiff full cup of gin 'n' tonic (3 drinks, 4?), 4 cups of champagne=2+(3 or 4)+4x3=17.

So we have:
Drinks=17
Time since last meal=9 hours

Back to party: Joaq joins conversation about marking, band plays cover of Bob Dylan's "Tangled up in Blue," then blackout occurs.

BLACKOUT * * * * * BLACKOUT * * * * * BLACKOUT * * * * * BLACKOUT * * * * * BLACKOUT * * * * * BLACKOUT * * * * * BLACKOUT

Disclaimer: The following occurrencs may or may not have actually happened. I have no mental recollection nor was I ever presented with photographic or visual evidence of the said activities. However, unless Peaches, Cynthia, Icecock, Rook, Alex, my roomate, Levere, and other reliable sources are all lying, then the following is true.

So apparently, the drinking did not end, but Alex and I obtained another two beers. Then I encountered Icecock and his girlfriend, who was smoking a cigarette. Enticed by what I presumed was a joint, I requested a hit. Informed it was in fact a cigarette, I proceeded to take a drag anyways, commenting on how much I enjoy the marijuana. I offered Icecock a hit, who again informed me it was a cigarette, thus I took another drag, and may or may not have smoked the entire thing.

Somehow mantaining sufficient dexterity to retain a center of balance over my feet (this was not the case towards the end of the night), I found my way to another group of Brains when a Greenshirt appeared, with a full cup of alcohol. The fool! My spider-senses reacting instantly, I then, apparently, declared, "I have to have that," and snatched the cup from her hand. She then looked on perplexed as I accidentally squeezed the cup too hard and broke it in one monstrous paw.

Then the heavens opened up and the rain came falling down, which promted a wet t-shirt contest, of which I was the only participant.

At some point my liver gave me an ultimatum, "Go back to your room and hurl all this shit up, or I will flee your tortured body." So I hunted down Peaches, wrapped my arms around him, and informed him it was time to go home.

He acquiesced, and we began the long journey to Pomona's south campus.

Side note: If you were ever a Pomona freshman and plastered somewhere not on Pomona's campus, you knew you could always go down and to the right to get home, it never fails, down and to the right. Coincidentally, in the Fellowship of the Ring, when Gandalf the Grey (he wasn't Gandalf the White yet) was leading the company through the dark of the Mines of Moria, he had to go fight the Balrog, a demon of the ancient world, so on page 387, third line from the top, he instructs Aragorn son of Arathorn, "Go quickly and choose paths leading right and downwards."

Peaches, however, was unaware of such sage wisdom, and was also unaware as to where my dorm was situated. So when he inquired as to its location, I naturally responded with, "Gandalf the Grey...down and to the right," which apparently was repeated over and over again until we came within sight of Pomona. We finished the arduous trek to my dorm, and Peaches retrieved my keys from my pocket to open the door while Cynthia held me up in a grassy area some 20 feet away from the door. Unfortunately, I was sufficiently excited to break free of her grasp and lunge towards the door, making it all of about one step before falling face first into the ground. Now you might think this would not be very problematic, but you would be wrong. As it turns out there was one solid area of ground in that area, a four inch wide strip of concrete that lines the grass for aesthetic reasons, and it got into a fierce altercation with my nose. My nose elected to fight back by spraying copious amounts of blood at the offending piece of concrete, and just for good measure it sprayed Peaches and Cynthia as well, prompting Cynthia's later declaration, "Nothing smells as bad as somebody else's blood." She clearly has not smelled any bathroom shortly after my grandpa has unleashed an elephant sized load of feces into it.

Nevertheless I make it to my room where my roommate and Levere take control of operations from Peaches and Cynthia, who have been profusely thanked with a pint of my O positive blood. Universal donor you know. I then proceed to develop an intimate relationship with the toilet, consisting of me wrapping my arms around it and booting into it, sometimes booting onto the tile floor of my bathroom for variety. After this proceeds for some time, my roommate checks to make sure I am responsive to outside stimuli only to find out that I am not. While pondering whether or not this is alcohol poisoning and warrants a trip to the ER, he puts on some Grateful Dead, which upon reaching my ears suddenly snaps me out of my funk and I burst out loudly into song, singing along merrily to the lyrics. He described that as, "the first time all night that you acknowledged your own existence." I ended up listening and singing along to the entire American Beauty album. When I finally curled up into bed he put a frisbee under me cheek so I wouldn't puke into my sheets, but I resisted until he pointed out that it was a Whammo disc, then I proceeded to spit the rest of my vomit in my mouth into the worthless circular object.

None of this was known to me, however, when I awoke the following morning. I assumed the night had gone as planned, until I noticed the bloody handprints on my walls and the puke filled trashcan and frisbee near my bed. Seeing the bloody room I instantly feared that I might find a dead hooker in the bathroom that I had somehow murdered the previous night, but this fortunately turned out to not be the case, she was just a stripper, not a hooker. Piecing together the evening took extensive detective work, but it was achieved. It was a little awkward explaining to the dry cleaner why I didn't know how all the blood and vomit got on my shirt, just that it got there at some point the previous night.

So this was not my proudest moment, it lands in second place behind the time I tripped the blind guy crossing the street in the crowded intersection. Hopefully there will be more glorious nights in the future that involve less broken noses and vomit, but that cannot be guaranteed.

Stout

Here's a good one - an email sent from a (presumably drunk) former captain to our then current captains in Feb. 2004:

So, after a long-ish day of work, I was enjoying a nice glass of wine (or was it two?) and surfing around the web, when what should I find but a spectacularly beautiful looking Claremont Braineaters site. Just gorgeous. I wish the team looked so good...

So, it was nice to see my name mentioned as one of the ex-captains that helped the brains claw their way to a mere 46 slots shy of the top. Not bad I guess. At least, nice to know I'm vaguely remembered. Of course I should mention too how lame (read: old) it makes me feel to be the old ex-captain that nobody remembers but who remembers funny things about the just-barely-remembered ex-captains. Ah yes, many a time did the old Jer Duggan and myself take a ride out to Pasadena in the funkmobile for double doubles and an LA Galaxy match. Good times, though Cobi Jones still sucks. Jeremy himself was, of course, a god among men. What else? Anybody remember that Evan guy with the big nose? The one that would wear skirts and was kind of an annoying jerk? Yeah.

So, is that sheep's brain in a jar still kicking around? We used to grovel over that thing as a pre-game ritual. I hate to imagine its current state.

Hmmm.. other memories. I remember the time that, at a tourney at San Diego, we were playing against the Santa Barbara Black Tide. (Perhaps you've heard of them?) Their captain at the time was one James Studaris, who went on to lead his team to national championships several times, and then I believe played for the Condors.. and perhaps still does. But that day, rather than the traditional disc flip to determine sides, etc., we decided to pound off a quick can o' beerverage. I of course schooled him, despite his far superior height, and continued the schooling by laughing hysterically at him when, as he played the first point while I watched on the sidelines, yelled at me from the field that that one beer had made him quite dizzy and intoxicated. "What a lightweight!" I thought, and probably yelled. Of course, the joke was on me when I went in for the second point and could hardly run straight. Dehydration's a bitch.

Anyway, isn't it depressing that this is my claim to fame in the ultimate community? And I'm one of the successful ones. The lesson? Study for your math final; ultimate will take you nowhere.

Anyway, nice to see that the team is still plugging away. Thanks for the cool 'site and excuse to reminisce. If any of you are still around Claremont, please do the following for me: piss on east, eat a double double (grilled onions baby), say hi to the physics dept at HMC, and say hi too to that Sandy character from Pomona who applied for a math job at my college but alas didn't make the short list. (I swear, I voted for him though.)

Ibolele, Metale, Bonsoi, za, za, za,