Ker-plunk.

Ah, that’s the “swish” equivalent in beer pong.

I almost can’t put my finger on what’s so satisfying about sinking Ping-Pong balls into plastic cups. But there’s definitely something there.

Anyone can get lucky and plop that pong ball in, but it takes a little extra to become a beer pong champion.

A champion has nerves of steel. He rolls that sticky, orange or dingy white ball between his oily thumb and forefinger.

He locks on that one last cup and dunks the ball one last time into the wash cup, coating it with a filmy layer of sweat, dirt, dust, dead skin, phlegm and hair.

With a glorious splosh, time speeds back up.

The drunk losers miss their chances at Redemption. And that’s the game.

The losers guzzle down the rest of the cesspools and smile through lazy, glazy eyes. The cocky champions beg the clean and uninfected to step up: “Who’s next!?”

Lucky for them, there’s never a shortage. Everyone wants winners.

The players are experts when it comes to blowing, fingering, the Rebound Rule, the Shot at Redemption and NBA Jam.

But, they are rather ignorant when it comes to cup-sharing, filthy floors, grimy fingers and foamy backwash. They’d rather not think about it.

Yes, there’s a wash cup. But after a couple of dips, it turns into something else – a deep, warm Petri dish of anything.

According to a recent study from the Hygiene Council, and made available by WebMD, when you play beer pong you could be spreading more germs than Britney Spears on a slip and slide.

An abundance of pong games get underway in kitchens. The ball and the floor seem to have this magnetic, mutual attraction. Unfortunately, the kitchen floor is home to an average number of 830 bacteria per square inch. On the bright side, for the homeowner, there’s a wet, sticky ball streaking it clean.

At a hypothetical party, imagine the sick dude who just had a purge session in the bathroom. Don’t you dare let him in on the next game. His warm embrace with the toilet probably smeared at least enough of the 3.2 million bacteria per square inch available on the bowl to turn your pong balls into E. Coli beer bombs.

Even if he cleaned his hands afterward, that won’t really do much good. In his sloppy, drunken stupor he probably didn’t wash every square inch of his hands for the recommended 40 seconds. Even if he did, when he turns off the faucet, which is host to some 13,227 bacteria per square inch, there’s a good chance his wet, numbed-up fingers have something extra.

Next time you get owned by a duo of belligerent, obnoxious bratty frat boys, smile and step proudly aside. Pull out your hand sanitizer, and go brush your teeth. May I suggest you don’t drink the beer in those cups at all? Hold a can and drink the

equivalent.

As for you, notorious beer pong champions, you’ve built up quite the immune system swallowing all that strange saliva, snot, dust, dandruff and (fill in the blank with something disgusting).

I’m sure you could drink the wash cup at the end of the night and not even throw up.

That’s talent, and that’s what champions are made of: whatever’s in that wash cup.

Ryan Szymczak is a senior English major and columnist for the Daily Kent Stater. Contact him at [email protected].