The Black Sheep
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Vol.5, Issue 1
The College Newspaper That's Actually About College
9/5/13 - 9/18/13
We’re All Groveaholics BY: Knowlton Bourne “Hi, I’m Daniel,” the room roared back, “HI DANIEL.” I looked around at all the sad faces denied of their love for so many days, weeks, months. You see, we are all here for a reason, a reason that is embedded in our bones. It is a reason that nags at us every waking hour of our lives. I too am one of these deprived souls trembling from the addiction in my bloodstream, the incessant need for more. I look around and see students with pale flushed faces eyeballing the ground. I see lawyers and business men, disheveled and unkempt, tears in their eyes at what they have become. Women in high heels with mascara flooding down their cheeks. This is what we are, hopeless and neglected human beings just waiting, counting down the days until we can have what is truly our only love. Many of us have neglected our families and loved ones. We have shown that our addiction has priority over our lives and we are okay with that. We are okay with the fact that although the building blocks of our home and work lives are crumbling, we will always have our love, our addiction. We all have one thing in common. “I’m Daniel, and I am a raging Groveaholic.” My first experience with The Grove was something that I will always cherish and never forget. I was invited to The Grove when I was in high school by an older friend who was a junior at Ole Miss. I drove up to Oxford on Saturday morning, not knowing what to expect other than some football and sunshine. As I meandered onto campus from my friend’s apartment I felt the crisp fall air batter my face and the smell of cigarettes and whiskey burrow into my nostrils. Little did I know I was looking at the face of God. Everyone looked perfect, dressed to the nines with a stout Solo cup in hand, full to the brim with Wild Turkey and Sprite and not a hair out of place. The men were discussing the ins and outs of the SEC and chanting “HOTTY TODDY.” The women were bouncing through a maze of red and blue tents, their hair flowing like a keg on frat row. Chicken and beer were essentially hailing from the skies into the tents and hearts of every tailgater. I was in disbelief at the sheer
beauty this land and these people possessed. I had not only found my home, I had found my calling, my Mecca, my addiction. I attended every Grove get-together for the next four years, cherishing every inch of our beautiful campus and beautiful people. It was my home, where I wanted to exist permanently. If there is a heaven, it looks just like The Grove during an Ole Miss football game. That was just the beginning. My addiction got the best of me. From the months of December to September I began to find myself in The Grove at four and five in the morning covered in vomit, cigarette butts, and stale Miller High Life. I would dream about The Grove and
all of its glory. I would wake up to find myself cold and nowhere near the excitement and beauty that is The Grove. It is a sad day when the cold hard facts of addiction barrel down on all of your dreams and expectations, crushing your hope in humanity and life. That’s why I’m here. That is why I am in this sad white room with stained linoleum floors and cork bulletin boards full of inspirational posters to help us defeat our addiction. That is why I am sitting in a circle with all the other sad bottom feeders and addicts that can’t live without The Grove during football season. I am Daniel, and I am a Groveaholic.
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