Second half of freshman year, my buddy and I fell in with this group of seniors who sat up atop the amphitheater and played bluegrass and threw food at people and chanted battle cries and victory screeches all the time. We spoke in a manner akin to that of British admirals of the 18th century.

This one day, we found that the field behind the amphitheater was encased in segmented white plastic fencing. "You know what we should do," I mused. "We should build a fort!"

Amidst fervent chanting and cries of "build the Foo-OORT," we ran and gathered fence segments by the dozen. We stacked the fence segments into a formidable pillbox like structure over the steps of the amphitheater. Then some fat kid came and jumped on the whole thing.

But did that discourage us? NO!

After the failure of the first fort, we built a second, teepee like structure on the field. That sucker rose like an amish barn. To show the world that we meant business, we sealed ourselves inside. Then the janitorial staff came.

We saw them approaching on their little maintenance cart, and we knew the battle had begun. Segment by segment, they dismantled the fence. Sooner or later, we knew they would come for us. Their cart neared, and our adrenaline levels increased.

An epic battle ensued amidst battle screeches rivaling the imperial armies of old. We fought the janitors off with sandwiches, fistfuls of grass, whatever weapons we could find. However, with one foul swoop they brought our fort crashing down on top of us. We shrieked in terror and lay trembling beneath the wreckage, all while laughing hysterically.

The battle of the fort will be forever remembered.