Our team was terrible, but we went anyway—more for the mischief afterward than the game itself. As expected, the post-game foolery began. Eggs, toilet paper, shaving cream—classic tools of suburban chaos. I got an egg from a friend and scoped out a group of upperclassmen. One of them spotted me and smirked. “Don’t even think about it,” he warned. So, naturally, I did. I launched the egg. It narrowly missed, and a couple o...