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America loves a great underdog story – the Miracle on Ice, Drew Brees coming back from a shredded shoulder to win a Super Bowl, Rudy Ruettiger earning a spot on the Notre Dame football roster, and of course little Squints Palledorous knocking boots with town dime, Wendy Peffercorn. Perhaps the most notable underdog story of late is that of Tom Brady, who was drafted in the 6th round (199th overall) of the NFL draft in 2000. He now has three Super Bowl rings, two Super Bowl MVP trophies, millions of dollars and wakes up next to Gisele Bundchen every morning. With every NFL draft, the common underlying story is “Who’s going to be the next Tom Brady?”
We’re not talking about football here though. Like Volume 1, we’ll be focusing on frat prospects. The following were all one or two star bid prospects.
Matt Brohammer entered the rush scene with extreme reluctance. He had heard tales of the frat life, and frankly, it terrified him. Wild sex parties, alcohol poisoning and violent hazing rituals were some of the images he associated with fraternity life. As a Bible-toting virgin, this was not his element. His family had grown worried about Matthew’s future, mainly due to his anemic social life and steadfast resistance to anything unfamiliar. If not for a promise he made to his mother to enter fraternity rush, he would have carried on as an independent college student, most likely staying in the dorms throughout the entirety of his college experience, making few friends and driving home on the weekends. He agreed to rush with the condition that his parents paid his tuition. His mother would later regret these terms.
From the moment Brohammer walked into his first rush party, it was fucking on. He was walking around wide-eyed and half-chubbed like a 13-year-old discovering porn. The alcohol, debauchery and most importantly, the scattered trim at this party was like nothing he had ever imagined. An inner desire was tapped into, and he was ready to release it onto the world. His virginity was no more after that night. Matthew had gone from novice to pro in a 24-hour time frame. He went on a legendary slamming spree that sent the campus into a frenzy. “Watch out for The Hammer,” was a common saying around this time. If someone had the right equipment, they were taking the hammer. He even had a famous sex move he developed and refined simply called, “The Brohammer.” You’d have never guessed, but he was packing heat. When the Brohammer was released, it was feeding season. The legend spread to his hometown where his mother caught wind of it while in the produce section of the neighborhood grocery store. An intervention was arranged with the help of his brothers. His mother regretted and apologized for pushing him into the frat life as she sobbed uncontrollably. It was too late though. The beast was loose.
From a first impression, Gary seemed like a solid 2nd round prospect. He was a nice enough kid, humble and outgoing. He was also a legacy. It wouldn’t be until the second rush event Schroeder attended that everyone discovered something mind-numbingly disturbing about him. He hated beer. Loathed it. “I just can’t stand the taste of it, guys.” This realization ignited “The Great Debate of ’86.” Bid night was long and arduous. Half the time was spent discussing young Gary’s possible bid. Tempers flared, friendships were compromised, and shit was broken. His legacy status eventually won out at the end, and Gary would be better off for it.
The boys had a hazing routine implemented specifically for Schroeder, which naturally included the rest of his pledge class. Suffice it to say it included beer consumption, an unbelievably unhealthy amount of it. Like a wild stallion, they were determined to break him. Beer became a fixture in Gary’s life. In the morning, during class, while he was sleeping – beer, beer, beer. Substantiated rumors of a beer-boarding are out there, although I’d like to think they’re false. The determination paid off. He was broken, and then some. Schroeder pulled through his wine and Zima phase and developed a lustful taste for beer. He became a fixture at penny pitcher Tuesdays at the nearby tavern. He’d turn up and pound pitchers like they were pints. When he was at the house he refused to drink a beer that wasn’t bonged, shotgunned or teenwolfed. He turned into a sloppy, word-slurring, non-showering mess of a person, and he frightened women and children.
Zach was your classic sacrificial lamb rushee to some guys. He was looked at as a “haze ‘til he quits” guy by half the chapter. The other half had a brighter outlook on Meyer. They saw him as a project, a social experiment of sorts. Socially awkward doesn’t even scratch the surface of describing this kid. He entered rush like a blind man walking into a whore house. He had no direction, no idea what was going on, and was horrified at what he’d encounter. His infamous rush interview video is still being passed around as a classic, “What not to do.” He was a mumbling disaster with sweaty pits, a crew cut, and a necktie that looked like was tied by that same blind guy from the whore house. It was just one big nerdy mess. He earned his bid though, and it would prove to be a life changer.
The social experiment side prevailed. Some good old-fashioned hazing was all this kid needed. His confidence soared, he began speaking loudly and authoritatively, he started taking pride in his appearance, and he worked his way through a slew of young co-eds. His personality developed so rapidly and garnered so much respect, he was unanimously voted Pledge Trainer his sophomore year. He was a natural. The guy could verbally whip a pledge with a ferocity that no one had seen. One onlooker recalls a particular basement session where Meyer convinced a pledge that his mother was upstairs waiting to be impregnated. The pledge lost his mind, balled himself, and ran out sobbing to call his mother. “The Mouth from Maplewood” was born.
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