On Friday, April 7th, at 3:00 PM, it began. As crowds began to gather at the edges, the holders of the Doyle Owl, last year’s victors, brought the fabled idol to the Great Lawn, playing AC-DC’s Thunderstruck as they went. It was a bright spring day – the sun was breaking through the clouds – but the lawn was filled with that strange weight called anticipation. 
The owl was placed in a quite distinguished receptacle: a kiddie pool. This was my first, and really my last good glimpse of it – painted rainbow and pitted with holes, it was a battle-scarred relic. 
The crowd converged, and the struggle began. It was slow at first, but soon all timidity faded. All manner of implements were brought: water guns, dollies, rope, and tree branches. The fighters were showered with sunflower oil, eggs, and various other substances. 
It began to rain. A crowd of enthusiastic spectators encircled the fight, calling out encouragement. As the rain grew in strength, they took cover under various implements: umbrellas, the now empty kiddie pool, a large sheet of cardboard. A spectator egged on the combatants, calling, “Kill each other! Where are the knives?!” 
The fight went on, untarried by the rain. 
The tangle of bodies was thick – the owl could only rarely be seen, and even then, only in quick glimpses. 
The grass beneath the struggle was churned and battered. As the fight for the owl continued, it became increasingly muddy. 
The rain ebbed: sunlight broke through the clouds. The press of bodies was so dense that a heavy heat began to gather. Steam rose from the center of the conflict, casting the area in unearthly haze. 
And on and on it went. The owl was slowly dragged toward the edge of the great lawn… 
A red car and a white car appeared at the edge. The getaway drivers backed the cars onto the lawn, trunks gaping wide. The brawlers formed loose allegiances. There were calls of, “Red car! Red car!” and, “White car, White car!” and also, for some reason, a large amount of howling. 
After a long stalemate by the cars’ waiting trunks, red car aligned fighters managed to tie the owl to a rope. The red car took off, covered in mud and dragging the owl away. 
Though the fight was savage, there was no hate, and little anger. I often heard combatants asking one another, “Are you okay?” Despite appearances, the fight really was a bunch of people having a good bit of fun. Though some blood was surely shed, it was – for the most part I think – in good faith.
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about the author
Heyo! Kazuma is a writer and photographer for the Quest. They’re probably an English major, and they love media of pretty much all types (and reviewing it too), as well as taking photos of things. These days they are keenly aware of that strange truth that’s called, The Impermanence of Things, and thus, they spend most of their days attempting to find beauty in the everyday and trying to not to feel too sad (to a certain degree of success).
