Team ireland

Photo Credit: Olivia LaFrance / Pinterest

I stared at Team Russia. They were all dressed in long fur coats while I was left in a sweatshirt and St. Patrick’s Day headband. Team Ireland was already shivering before the games began. Rubbing my hands together at the edge of the table, I watched the red solo cups fall from the wind. 

I mentally and physically rallied myself for the first game: beer pong. We quickly retrieved the lost cups and filled them with golden booze.

The first shot went in. My jaw dropped as I looked at my team in shock. My teammates yelled. Suddenly, I went from being the weak link to carrying the team. I made another. Then another. A total of three, which is three more than my usual. I was so proud of myself that I didn’t notice we were still losing. All that mattered to me in that moment was my own success.

I was no longer focusing on the numbness creeping in on my fingertips or the sniffles that rang across the backyard. I handed off the ball to my teammate dressed in a green morphsuit and stepped aside.

We lost that first game. Then the second game. Then the one after that. Team Ireland came in last place by the time the kegs ran out. We cheered together one last time as a team before heading inside. “To Ireland!” we screamed. 

I covered myself with all the throw blankets I could find. Instead of dwelling over our loss, I closed my eyes and rewatched the three balls sink gracefully into their cups.