I am a king. Was I born into an English monarchy, heir to the throne of the United Kingdom? No. Have I spent most of my life roaming the wilderness as a ranger, finally returning to my people to challenge the might of a giant, flaming eye? I wish, but no. Am I some sort of arrogant rapper who repeatedly demands respect for being "king of da game?" Well, I've dabbled here and there in hip-hop, but no. Still, the fact remains, I am a King. I assure you, this is more than some bizarre, self-proclaimed title. My road to royalty was one I found myself treading nearly a year ago.
The spice of autumn was in the air. Summer now wanes, the coolness in the evening breeze heralds the season's change, and the coming crimson leaves and seasonal amber ales elicit an unshakeable fall time pep. What could be more fitting an occasion than the festivities of a Scottish college homecoming? In the echo of the bagpipes, at the base of the rolling foothills, in the heart of my alma mater, I found my place in the hierarchy. That's right, my crowning ceremony took place, not on in the Queen's royal palace, nor a Gondorian castle, nor Dr. Dre's recording studio, but a well-worn football field.
Despite this majestic occasion, I can't say I wasn't surprised. Actually I can't say I wasn't utterly shocked. This was something that caught me completely off-guard. As the two week period of nominating and voting began, a quiet voice in the back of my head pondered "Could you be nominated for the court?" This was immediately met with a solid "Absolutely not. Hush." Not to down myself, because I'm a fairly well-known, likable fella, but I've never found myself in the top-tier of the social hierarchy. Generally beloved is nice, but it's not Mr. Prom King Football Captain Popular Guy. Again, I'm pretty comfortable with my overall place in the cool kids ranking system, but I figured Homecoming was slightly out of my reach. I kept my desires to myself.
The end of nomination week, I'd given the whole thing little thought. As usual, my Friday night itinerary would consist of trying to get a little intoxicated. Whilst passing down a narrow dormitory hallway in search of an older friend to buy me a six-pack, I came across a couple of my Senior friends chatting about the nominees. One wished the other "congrats on the nomination!" The nominee in question wasn't surprising; he was a generally well-liked fella too, so I figured he'd be in the runnings. Then, to the absolute wide-eyed, jaw-hanging shock of every citizen in the magical kingdom that is my mind, he turned to me and said "Oh...well, I guess congrats to you too!"
The voting week began. I had been in utter disbelief, calling him out on his "joke", but an official Maryville College email doesn't lie. I was in the runnings against four other guys, with one of four lovely ladies as my potential 50 yard line bride. Throughout most of the week, aside from a peculiarly popular facebook status (that thing got like 50 likes), I did little politicking. Apparently, I didn't need to. Many an inside source encouraged me, telling me how many votes I was racking in. I hadn't been this flattered since my 5th grade class unanimously agreed that I was the "class Harry Potter." By the end of the week, it all just fell into place: I'd won.
I dressed in my most festive attired: corduroy khakis, a white collared shirt, and an orange & garnet argyle sweater to match the school colors. My lovely queen was a gorgeous girl with bright eyes, and together she and I manned the Junior float around campus as we tossed candy to the cheering crowd. At my helm was not a crown, but a classic captain's hat. A gruff man I've both respected and despised once told me that a captain's hat wasn't something you simply purchase; the hat would choose you when the time was right. Once it was given to me, I knew that this day was mine for the taking. My kingdom awaited.
Far too many glasses of an especially strong mixed drink later, I found myself in front of the entire crowd. My Queen and I smiled and waved at the obligatory cheers whilst our names were read. We were wide eyes, white smiles, and winning attire. In a way I was ashamed of my inebriation. In fact, I gave an apology to the misses as we marched arm and arm to the center of the field. "I promise I'm not doing this to be cool or anything, but I am far too intoxicated right now. I guess I just want to say I'm sorry for that. It just sorta happened," I whispered Despite the initial shame, I think it was for the best. What's a sea captain king without a little something in his goblet? Besides, none of this was exactly conventional. From my seemingly random nomination to my quirky crown, I was proud to bring my own special flavor to the mix of the royal court. I was a homecoming King exactly as I knew I should be: stylish, seafaring, and just a little bit sauced.
The spice of autumn was in the air. Summer now wanes, the coolness in the evening breeze heralds the season's change, and the coming crimson leaves and seasonal amber ales elicit an unshakeable fall time pep. What could be more fitting an occasion than the festivities of a Scottish college homecoming? In the echo of the bagpipes, at the base of the rolling foothills, in the heart of my alma mater, I found my place in the hierarchy. That's right, my crowning ceremony took place, not on in the Queen's royal palace, nor a Gondorian castle, nor Dr. Dre's recording studio, but a well-worn football field.
 |
| Bought this for me after victory! And by "this", I mean not this at all. |
The end of nomination week, I'd given the whole thing little thought. As usual, my Friday night itinerary would consist of trying to get a little intoxicated. Whilst passing down a narrow dormitory hallway in search of an older friend to buy me a six-pack, I came across a couple of my Senior friends chatting about the nominees. One wished the other "congrats on the nomination!" The nominee in question wasn't surprising; he was a generally well-liked fella too, so I figured he'd be in the runnings. Then, to the absolute wide-eyed, jaw-hanging shock of every citizen in the magical kingdom that is my mind, he turned to me and said "Oh...well, I guess congrats to you too!"
The voting week began. I had been in utter disbelief, calling him out on his "joke", but an official Maryville College email doesn't lie. I was in the runnings against four other guys, with one of four lovely ladies as my potential 50 yard line bride. Throughout most of the week, aside from a peculiarly popular facebook status (that thing got like 50 likes), I did little politicking. Apparently, I didn't need to. Many an inside source encouraged me, telling me how many votes I was racking in. I hadn't been this flattered since my 5th grade class unanimously agreed that I was the "class Harry Potter." By the end of the week, it all just fell into place: I'd won.
 |
| Leaning on my queen in light of my shaky sea legs |
Far too many glasses of an especially strong mixed drink later, I found myself in front of the entire crowd. My Queen and I smiled and waved at the obligatory cheers whilst our names were read. We were wide eyes, white smiles, and winning attire. In a way I was ashamed of my inebriation. In fact, I gave an apology to the misses as we marched arm and arm to the center of the field. "I promise I'm not doing this to be cool or anything, but I am far too intoxicated right now. I guess I just want to say I'm sorry for that. It just sorta happened," I whispered Despite the initial shame, I think it was for the best. What's a sea captain king without a little something in his goblet? Besides, none of this was exactly conventional. From my seemingly random nomination to my quirky crown, I was proud to bring my own special flavor to the mix of the royal court. I was a homecoming King exactly as I knew I should be: stylish, seafaring, and just a little bit sauced.
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