The Beer Pong Experiment

In the book “Ego, Hunger, and Aggression: a Revision of Freud’s Theory and Method.” written by Gestalt therapist Frederick S. Perls, the author quotes an unnamed, reportedly famous astronomer, immortalizing the infamous phrase “Two things are infinite, as far as we know – the universe and human stupidity.”. It has since been attributed to the one and only Albert Einstein, without any actual confirmation.

Being born more than half a century later, I cannot shed any light on this mystery, however I can confidently say that whoever made that statement only got half of it right. There is actually a chance that the Universe is finite.

The only thing we know at this moment using our still limited technology is that the Universe is not eternal –having been created during the Big Bang 13.8 billion years ago- and that we cannot actually observe its edges exactly because the light from anything beyond 13.8 billion light years away – technically 46 million light years, due to the Universe’s constant expansion since its creation - we simply cannot observe anything beyond that point. Is it infinity, is it a sphere, is it just flat? For the time being we only have evidence for the latter, which –of course – gives us no clues in regards with the Universe’s size.

Now coming back to that second part of the aforementioned statement… Yes. I wholeheartedly believe it. The evidence, of course, supports it – I would not adopt an opinion out of a mere hunch, I am not a barbarian. I have conducted the statistical analysis myself, using the ever-growing sample of interactions I have with the species of apes that refer to themselves as “Homo sapiens”. Needless to say, I disagree with that title as well.

“Sapiens” in Latin means “one who knows” and trust me when I say that after countless hours of data sampling and an “ungodly” –do not get me started about “God” – number of statistical models, “Homo sapiens” as a whole knows absolutely nothing. They have the illusion of knowledge and wisdom, but nothing more than that.

Now you might wonder, if you hold such contempt for that species what are you doing in the middle of one of their ceremonious social gatherings known as a “party”? That, my fellow researchers, is because of the social hierarchy in the shrewdness of apes that I happened to be born into. You see, in this primitive society that values flamboyance and crudeness above intelligence and refinement – despite the fancy titles adopted that try to prove otherwise – I was always destined to fall short behind my sister and her irrational demands. For, while I represented the latter traits, she was the living and breathing embodiment of the former. We have been such polar opposites, that my scientific curiosity couldn't help but obsess over the possibility that even though we share the same parents, we share no DNA in common – except for the mitochondrial of course. The chance of such an occurrence, considering that both the egg and sperm that contributed to our respective conceptions would have to have kept the exact opposite chromosomes and as well as the same genes swapped during recombination, is astronomically low. However, personal biases and wishful thinking set aside, practically zero is not actually zero. Alas, our parents would not let me test my theory.

As I was saying, when my hieratically superior sister announced that we are to hold a party in our home, I had no other option than to comply. Our dear mother and father were delighted at the idea of their offsprings socializing with fellow college students, which was unfortunately mostly targeted at me. So they happily offered their house, taking the opportunity to take some long-overdue holidays, and specifically instructed me to attend the party being the good host that they raised me to be. Normally, I would not succumb to such ridiculous emotional manipulation, however I do respect the superior genetic make-up they provided me with, despite the fact that it apparently consisted of several recessive genes that never had the chance to activate in themselves. Not to mention, that they decided to use my room as a wardrobe, completely robbing me of any safe place in the building.

So there I was, begrudgingly adopting the role of party host, taking jackets from guests up to my –former- room, while my sister performed her usual tribal rituals of befriending them, which mostly included deafening laughter and frantic dancing. If I am to be completely honest, I did not mind the manual labour of carrying thick pieces of clothing and climbing the narrow staircase that led to the bedrooms. Interacting with these so-called intelligent apes was not something I was too eager about. But as all good things in life, the duty of coat carrier did not last forever. After a couple of hours most guests had arrived and I was out of excuses - and sanctuaries – to get away from them.

As expected, I had been put in the uncomfortable position of standing in the corner of the living room holding a glass of some kind of poisonous liquid in order to fit in, hoping that I will not be spotted by any nosey classmates or, even worse, by my own flesh and blood. The party was at that moment, as they like to call it, in full swing. The hideous pounding that they labeled as “music” was assaulting my ears at way above the maximum recommended safety level of 85 dB. The other individuals that, regrettably, consisted the majority of my cohort were either eagerly poisoning themselves with alcoholic beverages, using ludicrous dancing movements as a mating ritual or engaging in some other meaningless acts that they labeled as "entertainment". What an absolute waste of time.

One voice prevailed above all others, even through the deafening madness that was club music, and surprisingly enough it was not my sister’s. It was a male voice, and in fact one I could recognize without much effort. Benjamin Boyle. Benji for those that could not afford to waste any of their scarce brain power pronouncing more than two syllables. Muscular, blond, loud and most of all dense Benji. The living proof that humans share a common ancestor with chimpanzees. I would not be surprised if his parents named him with the canine from the homonymous 1974 film in mind. That, of course, would be a blasphemy to the dog's witty nature.

 Benjamin, underneath his handsome exterior that made him look interesting, was actually rather simple. But as it was to be expected, my dear sister was unable to comprehend anything other than said exterior, declaring him as her one and only crush and soon-to-be boyfriend. Tonight she seemed much closer to that goal, since after not long they began one of the most obvious of all the ceremonious mating rituals during our gathering, resulting in them exchanging a concerning amount of saliva within half an hour. Even with his mouth pre-occupied, Benjamin still managed to be the loudest of the pack. Honestly, although annoying, it was almost impressing.

Soon enough the shrewdness of young apes decided it was time to proceed to further rituals, known as “party games”. Normally, I would not oppose to a good trivia or mystery game. Any activity to warm up my neuronal synapses is always appreciated. However, all the games suggested were solely revolved around alcohol consumption and cheap shock value, usually of sexual nature. I never understood how something dictated by nature such as sexual preferences or practices could be reduced to a means of shame and entertainment, but most importantly of all I could not comprehend how embarrassing yourself (or more commonly someone else) could be the go-to choice of adrenaline production. I suppose there could be something interesting in the hierarchical subtext hidden underneath these seemingly “fun" games, but overall this entire ordeal bore me to tears.

Not before long, as the unspoken protocol demanded, Benji, the unofficial leader of the pack, gathered everyone’s attention with a challenge. My sister, joyfully accepting her place underneath Benji’s armpit, blissfully ignoring that his gesture was more of a signal towards her other potential mates establishing possession over her instead of a result of genuine affection, was clapping and squeaking in excitement to his idea. A Beer Pong Death Match. Others laughed nervously calculating their certain defeat against the 6’4’’ monstrous football player. These little apes were not completely deprived of gray matter, after all.

“Noone?” he shouted in fake surprise. Somebody would be forced to accept the challenge eventually, that’s how the unspoken rules went. They were all just stalling until somebody was either voluntarily or involuntarily offered as a sacrifice. Poor little apes, defenseless against social hierarchy. A passed out ape in my parents’ living room would be an enormous inconvenience for myself as well. How bothersome indeed.

I frowned, still standing in my corner, until an idea of my own came to mind. Perhaps I could turn this inconvenience to an opportunity. Social sciences were not my forte, but I couldn’t say no to an experiment. Especially when I had nothing else productive to do. I stepped out of the shadows and walked towards the soon-to-be lab rats.

“I will take you on, Benjamin” I declared, not forgetting to put on a friendly smile. I should not jeopardize my experiment by raising suspicion.

“You?” my sister intervened not hiding her contempt. “How? You barely drink! You don’t even play sports!”

Once again my own blood underestimated my skills. Overlooking the fact that Beer Pong could hardly be classified as a sport, I actually held athletics in high regard. Being the perfect athlete required not only a great amount of physical effort, but perhaps most importantly a tremendous amount of scientific calculations. Which muscles to train, how to properly consume energy and convert it to your advantage, acquiring and mastering the appropriate technique to handle your body or even certain equipment to achieve victory, it all fascinated me. And what I lacked in body mass, I compensated in knowledge.

“Come on sis, let us have some fun.” I smiled innocently. It did not matter how much she objected, I just had to convince Benjamin.

“Well said! Let’s have some fun! Come on, bro.”

Bait bitten. We assumed positions in opposite sides of the dining table, 10 not-so-ecological red, plastic cups on each other’s side forming the familiar triangle.

“I need to warn you though.” I casually declared. “I am really good at it.”

“Ok, is that right? Let’s see then.” I could tell that I managed to get a bit under his skin. The plan was going smoothly thus far.

I toyed with the ping pong ball for a few seconds calculating its weight and centre of mass. With a swift and precise movement I threw the ball, which bounced on the table and gracefully landed in the middle of the first cup. A round of applause and cheers filled the room, as I bowed humbly.

“Ok, maybe you are good.” Benjamin admitted drinking the beer in a few seconds. “But I’m not so bad myself.”

I responded with another, obviously arrogant smile. He held the ball on his eye-level pretended to concentrate and then threw it. As I anticipated it bounced with excessive force, missing the target completely and landing near my left arm.

“I guess, I don’t get to drink this round.” I shrugged.

My next shot was, again, a success, similarly to the third and then the forth one. On the opposite side, Benjamin had failed every single time. He simply never stood a chance.

I knew everything that there was to know. The necessary velocity, the friction, aerodynamics, the mass of the ball, the angle of the bounce, I could calculate and adjust everything in a heartbeat. Furthermore, contrary to my naïve sister’s belief I had taken the time to built my muscle memory as well. Being restricted by my parents’ insistence on acting “like a normal child”, I had to turn to specific types of experiments that would not draw attention while allowing me to spend as many man-hours as I wished dedicated to science. Throwing balls of various, sizes and masses on different surfaces and observing the projectile happened to be one of those experiments. Of course, eventually my parents’ resigned and let me expand my fields of knowledge, but I had managed to master the skill by that point.

Poor ignorant Benjamin, on the other hand, had been taught to value brute force over skill. I had watched a couple of his football matches and it was quite evident even then. A detailed task such as manipulating a ping pong ball would not be an easy one for him. Additionally, as part of my experiment I had decided to use peer pressure to ensure his demise. Benjamin was not accustomed to failure, so being suddenly on the losing side and looked down upon would drastically increase his cortisol levels and subsequently his levels of stress. Excessive stress equals less concentration and therefore, even more failure. He had unknowingly entered the cycle from the very beginning without any resistance at all, signing his own doom.

Soon enough, we reached round number 20. I had yet to miss a shot, while poor Benjamin had only managed two points. Two drinks was only a minor inconvenience for me, taking into consideration the big time intervals between the two successful throws and the fact that I had been constantly consuming water, slowly flushing out the toxic substances.

“Go Benji! You can do it!” my sister was the only one on his side at this point. I had let him go first this round. He aimed, but the amount of poison consumed had started to get the better of him. It was about time. I had not expected taking him down to be a quick process, especially considering he was a young male individual with substantial body mass, however I did expect him to resign when reaching 0.20% of alcohol in his bloodstream. He should be at approximately 0.25% by now falling dangerously close into the realms of actual alcohol poisoning.

“Noooo” my sister mourned as her beloved missed his shot once again.

Time for the final stage of my experiment. I lifted the ball gently, held it in front of my nose and took a deep breath, eyeing the final cup on the opponent’s side. The rest of the pack had their eyes glued on me, holding their breaths, seemingly experiencing some sort of religious experience. I threw the ball, it bounced, approached the edge of the cup and… bull’s eye.

The crowd cheered in frantic joy, chanting my name. I humoured them by lifting my arms. Benjamin begrudgingly lifted the final cup ready to consume the toxic liquid. I could not risk him ending up in a hospital any further. Also, it was time for the glorious conclusion of my methodology.

I walked up to him, putting one hand on his shoulder and the other on his arm, stopping him from bringing the cup up to his lips.

“You’ve been an amazing opponent, brother. I have never seen a man taking a drink like you can.” The sudden praise, combined with his drunken state, took him by surprise. Contrary to what he and, much more likely, my sister might have thought, my intention was never to completely ridicule him. He would more useful as an ally after all. I took the cup and lifted his arm ceremoniously towards the spectators. “Give it up for Benjamin Boyle, everybody.”

The cheers mended his wounded ego quickly, as he laughed and hugged me after just a few seconds. I already knew that, despite his inferior emotional intelligence, he was not one to hold a grudge. Which made my task even easier.

“You are a champion, mate. The freakin’ best!” he mumbled after letting out a war cry, collapsing on the couch, with my sister running to his aid. First part, successful.

I turned to the pack, who now united under my influence had gone back to chanting my name. As the atrociously loud music resumed they lifted me in their arms celebrating what they considered to be a tremendous feat.

Absolute success.

With one single experiment I had managed not only to established superiority over my sister’s boyfriend who would from now on show me the respect my household lacked, but I also climbed on the top of the social ladder within the wider group of apes that were our cohort. My theory that “party games” were in fact not a means of entertainment, but rather served a greater purpose of establishing and displaying hierarchy amongst the Homo Sapiens individuals seemed all the more plausible.

Of course, an experiment needs to be reproduced before we can assess its results. But for the time being, I decided to enjoy being worshiped by these semi-intelligent apes. My parents would probably not appreciate the damage the celebrations caused to their property, but they would have to take solace in the fact that their son had “normal social interactions” just as they wished.

Maybe that thought would convince them to let me hold the second Beer Pong Experiment sooner rather than later.