So, I went to the Old Main thing this weekend. It was a cool scene.
Robert Randolph put it down, and I’m sorry if you missed it.
And, standing in the midst of the whole thing, I felt proud to go to Mississippi State. Not proud in the maroon-sweater-with-a-big-white-M sense, but proud just to see so many students from my school, many of them drunk, acting like they have some sense.
See, when you have as many people in one place as we had at Old Main, and you factor in alcohol, you must expect some minor disturbances. You can’t get many people together without letting a few nuts in. It’s a mathematical certainty.
But nothing bad happened, at least not while I was there. And I was looking for it, too. People were weaving nimbly past one another in the packed street without ever brushing together. Beers were being held at careless angles, but nobody’s arm got bumped. Guys weren’t glaring at me for checking out their girlfriends. And drunk people were actually minding their own business, just enjoying the show from their own personal spaces.
The crowd was getting along too well if you know what I mean.
Before it was all said and done, I was sure some embarrassing spectacle would occur to ruin the pristine quality of the evening.
One drunk guy in front of me kept falling in the bushes, but it fit within the surreal vibe of the entire event. Everybody was grooving to the music, getting along wonderfully, and this lovable drunk guy just couldn’t help himself from falling harmlessly in the bushes. It was like a scene from an ’80s college movie.
But that was hardly the debacle I had been expecting. I thought, surely a fight will break out soon, or at least a shoving match. Or maybe somebody will throw up or fall on the concrete instead of in the bushes. But nothing like that happened.
Of course, I can only speak for the time I was at the festival and the numerous spots where I stood, watching the crowd almost as much as the band, not seeing anybody having a bad time.
It was encouraging to watch so many people have a good time without anybody’s fun being ruined. It made me look at MSU students with a newfound respect.
You have to understand that I’ve been at State for some years now, and every time I’ve gone somewhere that involved large quantities of drunk people, there has always been at least one person who can’t keep it together.
There’s always that one drunk guy who has to talk to everybody who inadvertently makes eye contact with him. And once your eyes connect with his, there’s nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. He stumbles up to you, drink in one hand, and blows his drunk-breath all over you while he stammers and slurs, trying to communicate whatever irrelevant idea his brain is trying to squeeze out of his mouth. And if loud music is playing, he either has to yell at you or put his mouth right next to your ear in order for you to hear him, and he’ll probably choose to do both.
Why is it that no hot drunk girls ever hem me up in the club to yell incoherent ramblings at me? It’s always the guy who has the least to say who insists on talking to everyone.
Then there’s the way-too-much-to-drink drunk guy.
This is the guy who has crossed the party line into the zone where drinking isn’t fun anymore. This is the guy who’s so drunk that he can’t even form facial expressions, let alone walk home. And when you see someone in this condition, it makes you wish you were carrying a bucket of ice water so you could douse him with it and snap him out of his stupor. But he’d probably just go drink some more.
Another staple of the party scene in Starkville is the looking-for-trouble drunk guy.
These guys are easy to spot. They usually have on a shirt that’s a size too small. They post up on the wall if they’re too cool to dance, or they dance like they’re at a rave. They’re constantly scanning the crowd, looking for girls to gawk at or smaller guys to put the mad-dog stare on. And they usually don’t have a girl with them, which I believe is the very root of their problems. These guys are just lonely, frustrated and looking to take it out on someone. They’re the third-wheel types who show up with their roommate and his girlfriend. They bark a lot but seldom bite.
And then there’s the can’t-stop-screaming drunk guy. This is the easiest type of annoying drunk guy to deal with, assuming he keeps moving and doesn’t stand next to you all night. This is the guy who wants to tell the world that he’s having a good time, but he can’t think of any creative way to express his joy so he just screams, “Wooooo!”
Right on, screaming drunk dude.
These are the types of people I’ve come to expect to encounter when I go out in Starkville. And I’m sure they were all present at Old Main. But, for one brilliant night, everybody managed to keep themselves cool and come together for some great music.
Maybe it was just a fluke. But, then again, maybe Starkville is finally starting to grow up.