BY ADAM DALVA

In print | April 13, 2006

There are a few events at Swarthmore that fill me with that all-too-rare feeling of emotional, mental and physical superiority that can only occur when you look around at a bizarre group of people and decide that you may well be one of the cooler people in the room. In the fall it is the Pterodactyl Hunt, the lone time during the year when I feel like a true athlete as I run around hurdling people half my height and stabbing surprisingly ineffective monsters in the back like Brad Pitt in the “Troy” preview. In the winter the feeling arises when I manage to hold off the urge to sing along to Christina Aguilera in the dining hall despite the fact that most of the food lines are populated by students who look like the people who lip synch in the “Beautiful” music video (God help me if Vanessa Carlton comes on though. Every man has a breaking point, and mine involves singing “A Thousand Miles” with my eyes dangerously close to closed). In the spring my feel-good event is definitely the Crum Regatta, which tends to be so delightfully inane that it even makes other Regattas look good.

The Regatta is, of course, the capstone event of Family Weekend, which guarantees a terrific turnout at the race because most students have nothing to do with their parents until Sunday morning since most of the school-sponsored events are as undesirable as a face-to-face meeting with the dark lord Xenu. Seriously, the parents weekend has got to be one of the most mismanaged events at Swat, as what should be one of the highlights of the year instead becomes students awkwardly trying to hide alcohol from their parents, their parents from everyone else and avoid every possible event along the way. By the end of the weekend, the sight of Martin Warner in an admiral’s suit that I strongly suspect is not rented is not only tolerable, it is a life saver. Although many parents turn up for the event, most non-familied students tend to resist the 9 a.m. wake-up call. For the sake of the loyal readers, however, I managed to drag myself out of bed and down to Crumhenge to watch the event.

The race itself tends to be fundamentally uninteresting. Most years, picking the winner in the Regatta is like selecting the correct Grail at the end of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade; if you take your time and look past the flash, the boat that makes the most common sense will usually win. And if you choose wrong Sean Connery will die. This year everyone knew that Ben Blonder ‘08, Colin Sowder ’08 and Bryce Wiedenbeck ’08’s boat would win because it was a well-constructed kayak that had cost more money to build than the $100 prize. As the cap gun was fired into the air, there was an initial period of uncertainty until the trio suddenly raced to an insurmountable lead and glided to victory with paddles raised in the air. Said Sowder: “It was not a bloodbath. That was as easy as John Stockton running the pick and roll.”

The competition in the Regatta was like Steven Segal in “Executive Decision”: good for the first couple of seconds, then a shocking death characterized by sucking. The second place finisher was two dudes in what looked like a metal bathtub, and third place was Kevin Carr ’08 literally running along the river bottom and pushing five girls on a plank. This means that seven other boats were slower than someone running along a river bottom and pushing at least 300 pounds. This collection of boats included a Huck Finn team complete with straw hats and those corn husk thingies, a boat made out of balloons and what looked like a large collection of floor tile. To be honest, I would feel bad making jokes about these people.

But really, the Crum Regatta is not about the competition. It is about the camaraderie that can only arise from a cold creek, near-drownings, poor sight lines and parents wondering why they possibly could be sending $42,000 checks to this lunatic asylum. There was a strange sense of satisfaction that arose among the group that trudged back up the hill on that Sunday morning, but it did not come from the thrill of the race or the joy of being with loved ones. It was the satisfaction of not having been in the Crum Regatta, and for a brief shining moment, being cool.

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