I lost my Fantasy Football league and had to take the SATs drunk

I’m a 22-year-old grad student and my essay scored in the lowest percentile in the nation

About three weeks ago, as a 22-year old Doctorate of Physical Therapy Student, I had to own up to a bet I lost, and take the SAT at the high school I graduated from in 2011.

This is the story of how it happened.

It was last year, during my senior year at Penn State, when a group of my closest friends and I decided to add a wager to our Fantasy Football league.

That wager stipulated that whoever came in last out of the 10 friends in the league would have to re-take the SAT at the high school we graduated from, while the rest of the league tailgated prior to the test by drinking heavily in a celebration with the loser.

If the loser took the test and got a total of 1000 or higher when all three sections were added together, the rest of the league would pay $50 to cover the cost of the test.

Well, even with a team led by MVP candidate Demarco Murray, my team freaking came in last.

So on Friday of the SAT week, I packed up my things and made the six-hour drive from my graduate school to my hometown.

Upon my arrival at home around 8pm on Friday, my friends from high school and college who had heard why I was home began piling into my house bringing their favorite bottle of liquor or case of beer. After some quick catching up, we began to tap into the alcohol we had to celebrate me taking the SAT the next time the sun came up.

Not surprisingly, the group of my 10 best friends and I all blacked out the night prior to the test.

Mom has always been my biggest supporter

It was a great night for sure, but around 5am, while we were all still passed out, a friend and member of The Beer Fantasy Football League made a 45-minute drive in order to tailgate the SAT in the morning. He arrived at my house, shook me awake, reminded me I have to take the SAT in 2 hours and quickly all 10 guys were up and at it, tailgating in my front yard prior to a sure to be excruciating 5 hour test.

That morning consisted of a mixture of Natural Light, Fireball, a little bit of Jameson and a lot of laughs. Soon it was 7:30am and we were all scrambling to get out and arrive at the high school by the deadline my SAT ticket said I had to be there: 7:45am.

We continued to be in prime form this morning when we arrived at my high school at 7:49am and rolled in 10 guys deep into our former high school’s lobby.

The principal standing on the stairs that had already dismissed hundreds of high-schoolers to their classroom instructed us to look on the window for our class assignment based on our last name, having no idea that I was the only one there for the test. At this point I swallowed some of my pride, found that I would be in room 225 for the next 5-6 hours of my life and made the trek to my classroom.

Unfortunately my friends were not able to follow me to my classroom. They did see, however, a sign on a door leading to stairs that read “Spectators Upstairs.” Extremely excited at the thought that my 9 friends would be able to watch and cheer me on as I took the SAT, they drunkenly sprinted up the stairs to find their seat.

Something I think is underrated is this aspect of the story: my friends were so freaking excited at the thought they could watch me take the SAT, they took one word on a door as a surefire fact that they could watch me struggle through a 5 hour test.

When these 22-year-old guys did get to the top of the stairs, they came to a screeching halt and realized that the sign was actually for parents of the cheerleading team, who came to watch their daughters at a Saturday morning practice.

As my friends always seem to do, they weaseled their way out of the situation and made their way to the high school’s weight room. After some funny Snapchats, they left the high school and headed to Bob Evans for breakfast.

I had been the last person to check into the room, and I was the only person who had to show ID because I did not know the teacher/proctor and had calculated that I probably had 7-8 years on most of the people in the room.

In no time, though, the clock was started and we had begun to work on the essay part of the test.

Unfortunately, I cannot recall what the actual test wanted me to write about… I knew immediately though that I would have to tell my story of who I was and why I had to be sitting in that chair, drunk, at 22 years old.

So, I did.

I don’t exactly remember what the essay question was and I’m assuming I probably did not answer correctly, but my essay had some solid quotes that were sure to bring a smile to whoever read it. Pretty sure at one point I said “I strive to be the Tim Tebow of academics” …

After that section and a brief break that I spent Snapchatting in a stall of my high school bathroom, we were on to section 2 – Reading. The clock began and the twenty 15-year-olds and I began to work on the test.

I truly thought the questions were relatively easy, but as I sat in that chair made to fit a child before puberty, I just could not bring myself to read and answer those damn questions. So, I decided to randomly bubble in the Scantron, and I would do the math sections of the test, something I enjoyed in high school, to try and reach the goal score of 1000.

Well, it turns out that the math questions are just as bad as the reading section of the test and I quickly realized I would bite the bullet and not waste my energy on this damn test. So, for 5 hours, I bubbled in the questions as quick as I could, and put my head down on my desk, suffering from my inability to just finish second-to-last in a fantasy football league with my best friends.

There was a point with just about an hour left in the test where I succumbed to my body’s wishes and loudly farted in the back of the room during a completely silent moment.

If the people around me were unsure of what the hell I was doing in that room, that moment certainly did not help.

After the long 5 hours, I made the pride-less walk from the classroom to the high school courtyard, where I waited 20 minutes for my drunken friends to get their shit together and come pick me up.

When they got there, I jumped in the car, took a swig of Jack and demanded we immediately get Taco Bell.

I explained to my friends the best I could that those 5 hours were so exponentially and excruciatingly worse than anticipated. And then we rode off and celebrated in style: with cheap Mexican food.

And the greatly anticipated results of that epic day are finally in.

It appears that was a $50 investment in a once in a lifetime experience. Once being the operative word, I don’t think I’ll be retaking them anytime soon.

Penn State national-us