The Crimson Sports Guide to Spring Break in Florida has been compiled for those of you who cannot function on a daily basis without "The Thrill of Victory and the Agony of Defeat."
It is important to begin your drive to Florida in a sporting fashion, so everyone in the car should predict what song will be heard most frequently on the radio between Boston and Fort Lauderdale. Try beating Glen Campbell's "Rhinestone Cowboy," which was heard 57 times during a two-day stretch on a trip to Colorado a few years ago.
On the drive south, a stop in Hardeeville, S.C., home of the world's biggest Hardees, is mandatory. In this lavishly decorated drive-in, fast-food reaches monumental proportions.
As soon as you reach your destination, everyone immediately has to begin playing the most intense game of their short spring break lifetimes--Find the Sand and Take a Tan. By gaining the coveted distinction of possessing a deep, dark, wonderful tan, you will be eligible to receive back-handed compliments in Cambridge like, "I bet you wore that light blue shirt just to show your tan off."
Harvard minds are too active to fall into a state of suspended animation for seven days on the beach. Just because you locked yourself in your room for six weeks and wrote the last 45 pages of your thesis in 72 hours is no reason to dissipate when there are constructive activities available to take up your leisure time.
Florida and miniature golf go together like beer and pretzels. Of course, beer and Florida are not exactly antithetical in vacation philosophy either.
Nothing can be more relaxing, or frustrating, than a round of miniature golf after a hard day of lolling-around on tiny quartz particles.
There have been few moments in my athletic career more satisfying than putting an orange golf ball into the mouth of a wooden Tyrannosaurus and seeing the little orange sphere roll out of the dinosaur's rear end into the cup for a hole-in-one.
Outside of West Palm Beach is a great miniature golf course adjacent to another phenomenon of modern technology--a giant slide. These Mt. Everests of the playground world provide a challenge to the most skilled six-year-old. You can imagine the difficulties I encountered trying to steady myself as I rapidly descended the metal mountain hoping to finish ahead of my less streamlined roommates.
Speaking of playgrounds, nobody can say Disney World is for kids. Harvard could abandon General Education and the Core Curriculum if it decided to send every student to Orlando to study for one year.
Perhaps Harvard should take a tip from Walt Disney and divide our requirements into Tomorrowland, Adventureland, Frontierland...
It hate to recklessly give away some of the information I sweated years to gather, but if any of you follow this next bit of advice, you will never forget me. Go see jai alai--and bet your birthday. That's right, if gambling is in your blood (but there shouldn't be any room beside the alcohol) go see the "Pride of the Pyrenees" decked out in iridescent uniforms winging pelotas in a Florida jai alai fronton.
The key to gambling is your birthday. But a box-quinella ticket for every game using the three numerals representing your birthdate. Mine are 3-17. If you cash in with my birthdate, please send a percentage of the winnings to Daytona Beach, in care of the County Sheriff.
Sorry, but since I couldn't get a reservation at the Vista Mar Hotel, and Uncle Benny wouldn't let us stay in his condominium, I don't know where you can find me next week for further suggestions about "What to do in Florida." Don't forget to buy a souvenir coconut.
Sex, Beer and Big RoomsT HERE WAS A DANGEROUS hoax perpetrated on the American people this summer--and I'm not talking about H. Ross Perot
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