Blood Lust and Aging Boys

So we have our boys' school 30th class reunion coming up. A friend has for some reason volunteered to organize it and wants me to give him ideas for activities. Well.

If this doesn't descend into a Lord of the Flies-type scenario, I told him, I'm frankly not interested. I can't abide the thought of us as contented, fat, balding adults standing around in Dockers, sipping pinot grigio. What, after all, does that have to do with nine years of regimentation and David Copperfield-like toil under the lash of a system that hoped to mold us into "leaders"? Yes, 90% of all my knowledge may have have come from that institution, but so did 98% of my deep-rooted stresses. So I'm lobbying for a one-hour game of Blood Lust.

Blood Lust: 80 kids, one ball, no rules. We developed it in 7th Grade as a way to, well...you get the picture. Now, 30 years on, I figure this is our final opportunity to return to the feral underbelly or our childhood, the last chance to go down under a frenzied and unsupervised scrum of screeching males, crushed to the asphalt but never, never, never letting go of the dodge ball.

Alternatively, we could play Kill The Goalie. Kill The Goalie differs from Blood Lust only in that it involves four goalies, 80 center forwards, unlimited soccer balls, and a cement wall.

Basically, if the evening doesn't end with a draped body being rolled into a paramedic van, it will have been a failure.

I'm hoping it's an opportunity to let me start to come to terms with some of my issues.