One fateful night, a contingent of SLU Rugby boys were walking down the street, minding their own business, wanting only to enjoy the evening. From the balcony of a dilapidated, yet feminine-looking apartment building, the Kirkwood Posse — a band of ruffians known for their latent homosexuality — commenced with their taunts.
The boys, possessed of a politeness that bordered on the academic, did not respond with hostility. They wished only to speak with the Posse regarding matters of politeness. And so, with alacrity, they charged up the stairs.
The person at the door did greet them politely — a civil opening that gave no indication of the chaos to follow. The boys entered the house party and found themselves wrestling with parties unknown. One bewildered attendee, mid-grapple, reportedly exclaimed: "Hey, I don't know you — you just grabbed me and started punching!" The precise cause of the wrestling has been debated at length, though no consensus has been reached.
Wanting to diffuse the situation, and recognizing what was clearly a misunderstanding, the SLU gentlemen did the honorable thing: they left the party, wishing all attendees a fond farewell.
The Kirkwood Posse, latent homosexuals that they were, may have been offended by this display of chivalry. For they did pursue the innocent SLU ruggers out of the building and onto the front lawn of the feminine apartment building — in the city of Saint Louis, not far from the SLU campus itself.
What occurred thereafter was a simple scuffle of unneeded proportions — a melee sparked not by malice, but by the tragic collision of good manners and poor reading of social cues. Local law enforcement eventually introduced pepper spray into the equation with professional enthusiasm.
The full timeline of the evening remains subject to ongoing negotiation between historical fact and institutional memory. At least one account suggests the brawl took place just west of Vandeventer — not far from campus — and that a man named Brannon was, by all accounts, going to curb someone and likely kill them. He was reportedly talked out of it just in time, as the police department arrived.
"I'll never forget when Brannon told the guy that was the hardest he had ever been hit before wrecking many, many people while at a significant numbers disadvantage," recalled one witness. "I wish we had pictures from the bar. It was pure carnage while we drowned our sorrows. And I recall people at the bar wanting to go back for round two."
The desire for round two was, thankfully, never realized. The evening concluded with pepper spray, regret, and the quiet dignity of men who had given their all on a front lawn in Saint Louis. One participant, reflecting on the evening's lessons, offered a piece of hard-won wisdom: "I learned the hard way that if you get pepper sprayed and take out your contact lenses, once your eyes start feeling better — you're not supposed to put the contact lenses back in. Because that hurts."
"We went up there to be polite. We left wishing them well. And somehow we ended up pepper-sprayed on a lawn in Saint Louis. I still don't understand it."