The Carolina Cup: A Desolate Delirium
Start writing a post
Entertainment

The Carolina Cup: A Desolate Delirium

Morals rotting behind the seersucker.

91
The Carolina Cup: A Desolate Delirium
Frank Hunter

I got into my friend's house in Columbia to stay the night around 3:00 AM. I had just come from my second concert in the last three days and the juices were running dry. I got into bed and realized I was going to get a minimal amount of sleep. What I didn't realize was how exactly I was going to get the energy to keep myself alive throughout the day. The early morning had come and I had entered my impending doom with the gentle ringing of my phone's alarm. The continuous deterioration of my weeks’ worth of energy was making my eyes heavy even in the icy shower I was taking. I cursed myself and the ensuing hangover that would follow. The countdown to the alteration of sane consciousness had begun. I stood in the house, still damp from the cold, sobering shower and began to ready myself for the ensuing debauchery and moral degradation that is The Carolina Cup.

The event can be best described as an essential event for any college student that finds an inner desire to flaunt their fraudulent southern beau or southern belle persona. The Cup is known for its memorable quotes like "Wait... there were Horses?" and being an excuse to get absolutely inebriated beyond comprehension. The age of chivalry is dead, and I'm certain The Carolina Cup was one of the malignant tumors that savagely murdered it. My grandparents are the last southern gentleman and southern belle on the planet; I'm still not sure who these kids think they are.

I left the house and made my way to the rendezvous point where I'd leave my car so I wouldn't have to pay the outrageous general parking fee. I was dressed as gaudy as possible; blazer, pink plaid button-down, light blue pants, duck boots and my irregularly colored aviators. I looked like the Easter Bunny had picked my clothes for me from a Lilly Pulitzer nightmare. We saddled up in our friend's truck with their dates and we were off to the mythological land of Camden.

Camden is a small, yet historic, town located close to the capital of South Carolina. The tall green pines and fields give the town a natural charm that rapidly growing areas like Greenville are quickly losing. The Carolina Cup is the only reason the town is worth an occasional mention, otherwise, it would just be another hick town full horses and stables. Each year in April, the horses in the stables of Camden are accompanied by another, less desirable, farm animal: pigs. As soon as you come off the exit and begin your way to the fabled event the cops are there and everywhere. They line the streets to pull over any misbehavior on the roads so they can finally provide the city with the income it needs in traffic tickets. The pigs get their fill of slop.

We maneuvered our way through the sea of police officers after our driver was stopped for not having his seatbelt buckled and made our way inside the awaiting depravity. I got in line at will-call for my fashionable tag that would allow me to enter the gates of the twisted Garden of Eden. The conversations in the line were incredibly and excruciatingly mundane. I must have heard the words "like" and "literally" enough times that the cast of "Mean Girls" would have ripped their eyes out. The disdain for the semi-coherent conversations kept growing but I had eventually gotten to the front of the line. I threaded my ticket and made my way inside.

It was a mad, cotton candy-colored carnival. The air was bleached with smells of fermented beer, soggy mud, horse manure from those blasted invisible beats and the last wave of the spring’s yellow pollen plague. The patrons looked like they were all clones, each of them boasting their colors as if they were peacocks, flapping and squawking in this deranged sanctuary. Every woman had a ridiculous sunhat with their monogrammed initials and all the males were sporting bow-ties. The ironic thing was that at some point all of the boys had spent a considerable amount of time tying their bow-ties solely to get to a point around noon where their intoxication commanded them to untie them. While walking the path to our tailgate I had noticed that most of the men's blazers covered more skin on their legs than their extra short, shorts did. They all truly looked like blazers had grown two, sometimes hairy, sticks to frolic in the decadent atmosphere. The girls, on the other hand, looked much less ridiculous. The floral print sundresses provided unexpected curves to their otherwise corset-flattened assets.

I finally made it to our tailgate all the way at the end of the row closest to the imaginary animal's racing track and that's when things began to get even stranger. The painted coolers were brilliant masterpieces of craftiness. They were all dedicated to the male dates and wore multiple, personalized logos of brands that are considered "frat", whatever that means. The music the tailgates were blaring was mind numbing enough even without the copious amounts of alcohol. Every song was from one of three different "artists": Waka Flocka Flame, Young Thug and my, barely, least favorite Luke Bryan. The music choice made sense in that the "race enthusiasts" all looked like they had come from a Donald Trump rally hosted at a country club.

After feeling my brain ooze out of my ears from the talent-less noises roaring from the speakers, I decided it was enough and I would go try to meet up a buddy of mine that was working as a vendor. We did a quick catch-up and I asked him what would be the funniest thing he'd seen that I could write about. He initially mentioned the obvious; stupid drunk idiots face-plantation in the mud, but I pried my way into a better story. His booth was selling sunglasses but one of the patrons stumbled up to his with no shirt.

"Do you have any T-shirts?" the slurred words came out of his mouth.

"No, we're only selling sun-glasses."

"Look man, I will give you $70 for one of your shirts." He demanded. The story ended there but one can only assume that the man had royally pissed off his date that day.

Suddenly the horns trumpeted the calls for the horses to line up for the race. We lined ourselves with the other colorful whack-jobs along the fence to see if it was really true that this was really a horse race.

"I can't see a damn thing." he said.

"I don't want to see a damn thing." I muttered under my breath. I wasn't sure if it was me or the substance talking so I went to make sense of it and grab another beer. There were three girls huddled next to one of the tables. I had not realized this at first but they all looked unusually gloomy and possessed. One of them sashayed her way up to my friend while his arm was deep in the cooler. I couldn't understand a word she was saying so I assume that when she got close to his ear she was speaking in tongues. To my friend, it was all white noise and he didn't even notice the girl until he slapped his cooler shut and unknowingly turned to her. Her and her friend's eyes all got really wide and they sprinted away like freighted felines.

As the kooky carnival wore on, the clowns were becoming restless. The Cup had turned into an attention deficit disorder paradise, with people making runs through all the tailgates. Everyone wanted to leave and I never understood why. No matter which new tailgate you discovered and ventured to, it would have been nearly identical to the last. I found it best to go with the flow and make a move too- back to my original tailgate. When I arrived some of the faces had changed. I saw two girls standing by a trailer and I began to make conversation. They were from Clemson, so I instinctively asked them what sororities they were in, to which they replied they were in some sorority I'd never heard of. I, and the majority of college students, assume that when we've never heard of your social club, that you're lame. I pondered,Should I be the one to tell them that they are the nobodies among the clones of this head-liner deprived event?I did, but they have no idea that was what I was actually saying.

A great fear began to strike me. I was becoming one of them. I had become a baby colored conformist that absorbed and excreted pompousness to appear that I was the king of the hill. There was no depth at The Carolina Cup. Everything you saw on the surface was what it really was. The event lived up to the credibility of a giant, vibrant and gaudy photo opportunity. The euphoria of this dystopian nightmare began to wear off and it was time for the faux beaus and belles to retreat back to their lives to regain a sense of depth that was neglected on that glorious April day.

Report this Content
This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.
Student Life

Waitlisted for a College Class? Here's What to Do!

Dealing with the inevitable realities of college life.

53324
college students waiting in a long line in the hallway
StableDiffusion

Course registration at college can be a big hassle and is almost never talked about. Classes you want to take fill up before you get a chance to register. You might change your mind about a class you want to take and must struggle to find another class to fit in the same time period. You also have to make sure no classes clash by time. Like I said, it's a big hassle.

This semester, I was waitlisted for two classes. Most people in this situation, especially first years, freak out because they don't know what to do. Here is what you should do when this happens.

Keep Reading...Show less
a man and a woman sitting on the beach in front of the sunset

Whether you met your new love interest online, through mutual friends, or another way entirely, you'll definitely want to know what you're getting into. I mean, really, what's the point in entering a relationship with someone if you don't know whether or not you're compatible on a very basic level?

Consider these 21 questions to ask in the talking stage when getting to know that new guy or girl you just started talking to:

Keep Reading...Show less
Lifestyle

Challah vs. Easter Bread: A Delicious Dilemma

Is there really such a difference in Challah bread or Easter Bread?

34275
loaves of challah and easter bread stacked up aside each other, an abundance of food in baskets
StableDiffusion

Ever since I could remember, it was a treat to receive Easter Bread made by my grandmother. We would only have it once a year and the wait was excruciating. Now that my grandmother has gotten older, she has stopped baking a lot of her recipes that require a lot of hand usage--her traditional Italian baking means no machines. So for the past few years, I have missed enjoying my Easter Bread.

Keep Reading...Show less
Adulting

Unlocking Lake People's Secrets: 15 Must-Knows!

There's no other place you'd rather be in the summer.

956842
Group of joyful friends sitting in a boat
Haley Harvey

The people that spend their summers at the lake are a unique group of people.

Whether you grew up going to the lake, have only recently started going, or have only been once or twice, you know it takes a certain kind of person to be a lake person. To the long-time lake people, the lake holds a special place in your heart, no matter how dirty the water may look.

Keep Reading...Show less
Student Life

Top 10 Reasons My School Rocks!

Why I Chose a Small School Over a Big University.

181595
man in black long sleeve shirt and black pants walking on white concrete pathway

I was asked so many times why I wanted to go to a small school when a big university is so much better. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure a big university is great but I absolutely love going to a small school. I know that I miss out on big sporting events and having people actually know where it is. I can't even count how many times I've been asked where it is and I know they won't know so I just say "somewhere in the middle of Wisconsin." But, I get to know most people at my school and I know my professors very well. Not to mention, being able to walk to the other side of campus in 5 minutes at a casual walking pace. I am so happy I made the decision to go to school where I did. I love my school and these are just a few reasons why.

Keep Reading...Show less

Subscribe to Our Newsletter

Facebook Comments