Man V. Keg: The Epic Battle Continues

By Seth Goldberg | Monday, February 16, 2004

We have evolved from humble beginnings to the great heights of modernity. From caves and spears to skyscrapers and missiles. But what will be the next step? Surely, we cannot be at the pinnacle of our own development.

Ancient India was populated with Hanoomans, Arjunas, Skandas, and the avatars of Vishnoo—all extraordinary in their abilities. The Celts revered the radiant Tuatha De Danann, who bestowed upon them the arts of chivalry and warfare. Viking berserkers became wild with rage during the heat of battle, and took on the strength and fervor of several men. In many cultures, there is evidence that certain groups of men evolved past their peers. Yet only at Dartmouth was such progress halted by the jealous, by the infirm, by the mediocre.

Dartmouth's administration has for many years opposed all sorts of fun and virtuous activities that do not advance its black agenda. It has eliminated groups that threaten its power (Zeta Psi), and has targeted others unsuccessfully (the swim team). Smokers are said to be the next victims in line. Parkhurst has poured our tuition dollars into its ever-expanding administrative budget while slowly whittling away at the quantity and quality of professors. And, in conjunction with the insurance industry, it has done away with the Keg Jump.

Creation

Shortly after the Second World War, Psi Upsilon fraternity began annually creating an ice rink on its front lawn. No longer was cold winter master over man. This rink was an arena for sport and for socializing. Decades passed, and the rink remained, passed on and improved upon by generation after generation of Psi Upsilon brothers. That is, until the early 1980s.

Flushed and unsteady one Winter Carnival Saturday, several Psi U's retired to watch a tractor pull on television. Amidst the exertion was a triumph of the human spirit: Evil Kneivel jumped over five cars on his motorcycle. The brothers, awed by his feat and moved to action, paid homage to the man in the only way they could. Gathering the five kegs emptied earlier that day, they arranged them in a line on the rink, strapped on skates, and, taking only a moment to scatter their wits and muster their courage, proceeded to jump headlong over the kegs onto a pile of mattresses and cushions.

At this time, Dartmouth students were both insightful and bold. They saw the commotion on the Psi Upsilon rink, and immediately recognized it for what it was: the birth of a legend. They flocked to Psi Upsilon, hundreds of them, and cheered on the event, and encouraged it. They demanded that it be repeated at the same time the next year, and every year thereafter. And so it was.

So inspiring was the Keg Jump that by 1984 it had become part of campus lore. Students, townsmen, and faculty lined the narrow strip of ice, drawn instinctively to the virtuous demonstrations. Support for the event grew to a fever pitch, and the athletes could no longer fail to recognize the involvement of town and College. Before each jumper was a sea of potential sponsors, willing to provide equipment and support in exchange for mere association with the contestant. Reluctantly at first, the athletes took on sponsors: local businesses, sororities, other organizations. But no jumper was willing to profit from the event, and each in turn donated his earnings to charity.

And so two decades passed, with each Keg Jump spawning a new host of heroes and a new set of dreams. The brothers of Psi Upsilon became impervious to injury, fleet afoot, and indefatigable. They developed a heightened sense of sight, an unnatural tolerance, and the ability to communicate without speaking. But above all, they developed an iron will. Theirs was a will to win, to conquer the ever-growing line of kegs with nothing more than the determination of man. But they did not do battle with each other. The competition between the athletes was fierce, yet it was the common efforts of the group, and not the feats of the winner, that were remembered. For the Keg Jump was not merely an extreme sporting event: It marked the emergence of a new breed of man.

Odin looked down upon his children, and he was pleased. But he favoured one above the others. David Mace, a man of exceptional athletic talents, Zen-like patience, and unsurpassed intelligence, cleared fourteen kegs and broke a long-standing Keg Jump record during the late-1990s. In this man purpose and ability were melded; his was a shining example to the gathered crowd. The beauty and transcendence of his jump were awesome, and those who saw it spoke of little else for weeks. Inspired by these keg-jumping gladiators, the crowd longed for freedom that it did not previously realize was absent. Children, faces beaming, encircled Mr. Mace, hoping to receive words of wisdom. Mr. Mace, however, was exhausted by his victory, and his words were slurred and unintelligible.

Execution

In January 2001, Psi Upsilon president Mike Holick received a call from Cassie L. Barnhardt, the Assistant Dean of Residential Life and the CFS advisor. She told him, in scant detail, that Psi Upsilon might not be able to create a rink, and, thus, might not be able to hold the Keg Jump. It was soon revealed that the College's insurance carrier had been unable to arrange for coverage with the terms under which it had been done in the past, and that no other insurers were forthcoming. Liability insurance was a requirement under the erstwhile Minimum Standards, and the administration graciously allowed Greek houses to either purchase coverage at favorable rates through the College's group plan, or to pursue independent insurance at a much greater cost. But the College's plan did not allow houses to purchase coverage above the group purchase, leaving Psi Upsilon unable to add coverage for the Keg Jump.

The administration had been at odds with the spirit of the Keg Jump for quite some time, and had made this clear the previous year by placing Psi Upsilon on probation following the event. Obviously, the College could not countenance a progress and triumph at odds with its social agenda. Using the insurance industry as a crutch, the administration acted decisively to destroy the highly regarded event.

But the brothers of Psi Upsilon, and much of the Dartmouth campus, were suspicious, and rightly so. For it is not altogether unusual for the cost or terms of an insurance policy to be increased or slightly modified, respectively, from year to year. It is highly unusual, however, for existing coverage, especially liability coverage, to be let to lapse.

The Keg Jump died at Dartmouth in 2001. But its spirit did not die in the hearts of the brothers of Psi Upsilon, and it did not die in the hearts of those who had borne witness to it. Yet by 2004, the ranks of the latter had dwindled, and the Keg Jump lived on only with the former.

Resurrection?

Things had changed over the years. The nation was at war, the College was in the depths of a budget crisis, and Dartmouth students had taken to using cell phones as they sauntered about campus. But despite these disheartening developments, the time was ripe for change. A new generation of students, reared on fables of triumph and glory, decided to renew the age-old battle of man versus keg.

Psi Upsilon had refused College insurance and instead found low-cost coverage through its national organization. Yet still, internal elements resisted the resurrection of the Keg Jump. It was agreed that the event could not return to the Dartmouth campus. But where?

Still filled with a righteous fury at the death of the Jump one brother who shall remain unnamed but loved, suddenly had a revelation: With tears of joy streaming from his eyes, and divine words of wisdom ringing in his ears, he spoke of a location at which the competition could be carried out in full. Suddenly consumed by effervescence, these fine gentlemen immediately began to lay the groundwork for a new Keg Jump. Once again, however unforeseen circumstances quelled the nascent movement. But not the momentum.

And so one fine Winter Carnival Saturday—maybe next year, maybe the year after that—hordes of students, faculty, townsmen, and county rubes will descend upon the Psi Upsilon Keg Jump, and will emerge wide-eyed with tales of heroic exploits. And for a short while, Dartmouth will once again belong to its students.

Man V. Keg: The Epic Battle Continues

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