My Bad Trip is Wasted Griz Nation

by lizard

Instead of writing some reactionary lament about how fucking unhinged this country has become, I’m going to write about LSD and booze.

Here it is, and it’s very insightful: moderation is not the mantra of college.

Campuses across the nation are petri dishes of chemical experimentation, where limits are redrawn and sometimes bad things happen. With that in mind, I think it’s worth pointing how UM’s student-run media organ—the Kaimin—juxtaposed a bad acid trip with traditional boozing in its September 6th publication.

The feature piece, titled Bleeding a bad trip, is a very well-written retelling of a terrifying LSD experience that put a UM student in the hospital after 47 self-imposed puncture wounds in his neck.

For anyone who may be curious about mind-altering substances like LSD, this story probably makes you think twice. There are certainly lessons in this story about what NOT to do if taking a trip is something you’re contemplating.

What irks me is the other story about a drug, titled Game day: Win or lose, Griz fans will booze. Because with alcohol, and the Griz, it’s all just knucklehead shenanigans.

Here is the majority of the article:

The game doesn’t start for another seven hours, but it’s all beers and smiles when I walk up to the small party. “More Than a Feeling” blasts as I approach an older gentleman we’ll call Dave. He is already drunk and can hardly hide his Griz enthusiasm.

Dave dives into his maroon lawn chair, maroon cozy in hand. His maroon truck provides a Grizzly glow to his figure, as if to suggest he was more divine than smashed.

“Hi there, I’m Jesse Flickinger with the Montana Kaimin. Mind if I ask you some …” I was cut off before I can even mention the game.

“The Montana what?” Dave says, confused as to what a Kaimin even is. Hell, I don’t even know what it is.
His daughter laughs and interjects, “Dad, it’s the student newspaper.”

“Oh thank God,” he says. “I was scared you were some religious nut job and wanted my beer. Anyway, what’s your question son?”

A barely coherent conversation ensues. The few things I gathered: The Griz are awesome, Jordan Johnson is awesome, PBR is awesome and, surprisingly, football is awesome.

I was ready to leave, to move on to the next person who was letting their Grizzly show a little too much, but then Dave left me with one surprisingly intelligible gem.

“We’re going to destroy App State,” he cries, channeling his inner-Braveheart.

“We’re going to yell. We’re not going to be able to talk tomorrow, and it’s going to be great.”
I walk away in fear he might let out a Ric Flair-ian “Whoooo!” and beat my ass, ending the interview with an exclamation point.

I say this out of sheer reverence of the things I saw last Saturday.

A girl having to be wheeled home in an Albertsons shopping cart an hour before game time due to poor decisions and extreme intoxication — check. A guy two snaps into the game unloading his belly full of alcohol on an unsuspecting crowd and sitting in it for a good five minutes before he even bothered to run from security — check.

The most patriotic skydive I’ve ever witnessed — double check.

Night games bring out the best (read: worst) in Griz Nation. Missoula loves this team, and it’s a beautiful thing. And although Monte symbolizes that spirit, he’s just an anthropomorphic character that gets a full-ride for his pride. The real spirit was with Dave and everyone I encountered Saturday afternoon.

Dave is old enough to be my grandpa, but he is Griz Nation. He’s not getting paid for his services. His passion for this team is obsessive, rowdy, drunken and really something else.

It was genuine.

Such is life for Griz Nation.




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