The Definitive History of Pong

Pong is quintessentially “Dartmouth.” It links students of the past to the students of the present, and it emphasizes the camaraderie that exists within the larger Dartmouth community. Whether having won or lost, everyone remembers his or her first pong game with a great deal of affection. A right of passage for all freshman, most will eventually find themselves behind a table, paddle in hand, desperately trying to avoid being golden tree’d—losing a game without hitting a single cup—by the end of their first game. While the fate of any Dartmouth student’s first game of pong might be an eternally sore subject, it marks the start of an intimate and long-lasting respectful relationship with the game. However, the adrenaline rush that comes as you sink your first cup is one that most students never forget. Pong through the ages is a topic often discussed by outsiders without context for its true importance—Total Frat Move, Business Insider, The New York Times, The Tab, and strangely enough even The Yale Daily News have all written about pong. One (now) famous ’78 even wrote his thesis on the game. We at The Review desired to write this piece because we too love pong and all of its longstanding traditions and quirks.

Pong at Dartmouth
Pong at Dartmouth

The first reported game of pong was played in the mid-1950s. However, it was a niche social activity reserved only for certain fraternities that didn’t gain mainstream popularity until the early ’70s. Fraternity leaders from the Class of 1967 have remarked that they did not ever play pong when they were on campus. Multiple members from the Class of 1971 have made comments along similar lines, with one observing that pong “wasn’t a campus-wide folkway [and its] culture only thrived in some fraternity basements.” However, certain members of the Class embraced this new game and played an average of anywhere from two to four nights a week—a number that may sound familiar to current students. As pong continued to permeate fraternity basements, its popularity began to spread. In 1976, with the addition of female students to Dartmouth’s campus, fraternities began breaking the handles off of ping-pong paddles to make it more difficult for women to hold the paddles and become acclimated to the game. Like most weak and pathetic attempts of excluding women from social spaces and activities, this effort failed miserably. Women quickly integrated themselves into pong culture, adapting to these new paddles and sinking cups. In 1977, the College revoked the status pong had somewhat incredibly enjoyed as the only college-sponsored drinking game in history. Today’s Master’s tournament, played over each Class’s sophomore summer, might be considered an homage to that historical legacy. Each Greek house puts forth its two best teams, and one house ultimately reigns supreme in an epic tournament of pong. By the late 1980s, pong’s place on campus had been solidified. More and more frats integrated pong into their basement scenes, and it became a fundamental part of culture at Dartmouth. The game spread, and subtle changes began to emerge between the various houses on campus. Today, students can be seen playing pong in every basement, almost every day of the week. 

The Review reached out to alumni to attain a better understanding of how the set-up and execution of our favorite pastime has evolved since its widespread adoption in 1970s. A Sigma Kappa ’74—a self proclaimed pong expert—described the rules with which he and his friends played in terms that strikingly depart from those used today: “The game in the 1970s consisted of putting a full cup of beer in the middle of each quadrant of the ping-pong table. The objective was to hit the opponent’s cup, in which case he and his partner had to drink 1/4 of his cup. Or, even better, to hit the ping pong ball into the opponent’s cup, in which case he and his partner had to chug their beers.” After hitting an opposing duo’s cup four times, they were out and the next team would be on table. Moreover, despite a common objective, the current practice of aligning the cups in a tree bears little resemblance to the game of old.

Even the way we execute pong shots has changed. Prior to the turn of the century, pong much more closely resembled the game of ping pong, with shots being low and difficult to return. A strong player would ideally be able to smash the cups off the table, in which scenario the opposing team would have to refill each cup and imbibe. While still observed in houses such as GDX and Sig Ep today, aces were also crucial to prior variations of pong. An Alpha Chi ’79 confirms that pong players were just as conniving back then as today, describing serving tactics as follows: “Pong involved both fast serves and serves using subterfuge, surprise, lack of convention, and distraction (even physical distraction in doubles).”

Nowadays, two players per team is the standard, and the standard pong shot is a lob hit which follows the trajectory of an arc on its journey from the paddle to (hopefully) the opponents’ cups. One can only spectulate as to why pong moved away from fast-pace slams to elongated lobs. Perhaps pong was subjected to the influence of its ugly, red-headed step-sister, beirut. A carnival game that no reasonable person would ever classify as pong, beirut may have informed the use of an arced shot to attack cups. Or perhaps “slam pong” involved much more movement and our game was bred of laziness. Regardless, many students would be shocked and uncomfortable to see the game of old played in our familiar basements. Not only is slam pong frowned upon today, but lobs are the only truly acceptable way to hit a cup. If a player hits the ball too low, or, more accurately, with a downward arc, anyone playing or even observing the game can call “low” and compel the player to re-serve. 

Cup placement has also deviated from earlier times. Many think of the eleven-cup Tree formation as a sacred symbol of Dartmouth. Bearing questionable resemblance to the Lone Pine, the arrangement can be seen on table (in order to aid in set-up as the night grows long) and even embroidered on fraternity shirts. Although this is the default formation in most Greek houses, a variety of different patterns are used for special occasions.

When time is of the essence and waiting lines are long, many houses resort to Shrub, a smaller version of tree that uses seven cups and less beer. On the other end of the spectrum, empty basements sometimes see the infamous Sequoia formation, a tree with an extra row of five beers behind the previous back row of four beers with a double stem. Obviously, this game takes longer and leaves participants substantially more intoxicated than does a game of Tree. An even more ambitious and rare formation is 3-D pong, which refers to its three-dimensional set up. On top of the original tree, cups are stacked higher and higher until reaching a “peak cup,” four cups above the table. Because of the larger target, this game can quickly turn into hedonistic chaos and is typically reserved for big weekends or reckless Keystone enthusiasts.

Still another obscure pong formation that remains played today is referred to as The Line of Death, and it still can be seen in the basement of Sigma Nu on rare occasions. Nine or eleven cups are placed in a horizontal line, a paddle’s-length away from the back of the table. A Sigma Nu ’92 tells us that, in his day, Line of Death had three separate variations. Standard Line of Death consisted of eight cups centered on the table. Wall of Death consisted of sixteen cups lining the entire width of the table. Great Wall of Death consisted of thirty-two cups—two rows together, lining the entire back of the table—and a great deal of regret the next morning. Line formations are thought to reward pinpoint accuracy, as all the cups are at the same distance from the other side of the table.

Occasionally, games of pong involve more or fewer than four players overall and thus require adjusted set ups. For players serious about improving their game, 48 is a variation that requires only two players. The name is derived from the point system used to score the game, and it bears some resemblance to pong played in the ’70s. For each opponent, two cups are placed side by side, a paddle’s-length from the back. One beer is split between the two cups, and each cup contains four points. A hit represents one point while a sink finishes whatever points remain in the cup. Although often overlooked, it is customary that, after a cup is finished, it remains on the table, and any strikes or sinks of said cup will result in a point deducted from the remaining beer cup. These cups are only refilled when all beer is gone, which happens to fall on multiples of eight—hence the name of the game, 48, referring to a game that ends when the loser finishes his sixth beer. An opponent may have to refill his cups multiple times before his adversary if severely outmatched. Considered a “gentleman’s game,” it does not matter who serves the ball, and participants are obliged to refrain from spin serving.

When more than four players are looking for a game, oftentimes two tables will be pushed together for a round of Harbor, which requires four teams of two players. As the name suggests, Harbor is comprised of five ships: straight lines of cups, of varying lengths, that are “sunk” when a constituent cup is sunk and less than two-and-a-half full cups remain in the ship. Each team starts the set-up in a corner of the now-square table. A “six boat,” a ship consisting of six cups, stretches from the corner on the team’s right along the edge of the table, while a five boat runs along the left edge, starting about a cup’s-length from the start of the six boat. From this “L”-shaped start, a four boat runs diagonally towards the center of the table, bisecting the ninety degree angle created by the first two ships. Along the same edge as the five boat is the three boat, which lies on the edge of the team’s region, right where the two tables have been pushed together. Placed horizontally in front of the four ships is the elusive two boat. Lastly, the one boat is placed in between the six, five, and four boats and is actually not a ship at all, but a mine. The mine is notoriously easy to hit, and, when struck, the offender must go over to the opponent’s side of the table, drink the mine, and then refill it. This ordeal leaves the offender’s side vulnerable, as the game does not stop, and his partner must now defend their whole quadrant himself. As teams are eliminated, they must leave the table, and when two teams are left, they take their remaining cups and play on one table as in a regular game of pong. It is important to remember that Harbor waits for no one—anybody is able to serve the ball, and stepping away from the table does not stop the game. Some also play such that off-table shots can be slammed at opponents, and hitting them results in the drinking of a half.

Today’s fraternities and sororities all have their own unique rules and customs. Chi Heorot, known for its high ceilings and spacious pong area, offers a space suitable for expert-level pong. Pong at Heorot is played with the regular tree formation, but without medians. Teams can usually decide who serves, and three serve attempts are allowed. Ceilings are always good at Heorot, even on serves, regardless of how hard the ball is hit. Slams are only good off of elbows or on saves, and there are no team saves, meaning that only the person whose turn it is to hit can save the ball. When one’s teammate is especially bad at saves, this rule can be liver-killer.

Sigma Alpha Epsilon also uses the tree formation, but it requires that serves be played to the person who has just sunk a cup, if applicable. Servers also get three tries here, but team saves, along with team returns, are allowed.

The brothers of Beta Alpha Omega have no problem flipping their tables and clearing out their basement for dancing during the night, but pong is nonetheless an important activity in their basement. Beta uses the tree formation like most fraternities, and also allows three strikes on serve, but only counts a serve as a strike if the ball goes off the table. Beta allows team saves and also allows the use of the body throughout gameplay. The one rule that makes Beta unique is that it allows ceiling slams.

Phi Delta Alpha, or Phi Delt, has a heavy-drinking atmosphere that is very conducive for pong. The rules at Phi Delt are pretty standard, featuring tree formation and three off-table serve attempts, although any use of the body is strictly prohibited (and may get you booed out of the basement). Make sure not to hit the ceiling on serves!

Pi Kap (Kappa Pi Kappa) is one of the few frats to use the shrub formation, making games shorter but also making lines move more quickly. Pi Kap authorizes three serve attempts, allows players to serve to either side of the table, and also permits team saves. The brothers here can chug like no other, and you’ll scarcely see beer being poured onto the floor. That being said, their somewhat-newly renovated basement contains a water fountain in close proximity to their tables. If you want to play with water—go for it, and drink it to stay hydrated!

Alpha Chi Alpha, known as Alpha Chi, has a uniquely shaped basement with three standard pong tables and one table reserved for a drinking game called chesties. (Four players with one cup each stand at each corner of a table and attempt to hit the ball off of their chests into their cup.) Alpha Chi allows three serves as well as environment on hits, meaning that they play anything that hits the table off of any object that is not the floor. Ceiling slams are also allowed. See a brother saluting while drinking? Ask him what it’s about!

TDX (Theta Delta Chi) hosts a heavy-drinking pong scene and plays with a double-stemmed tree, placing a twelfth cup at the base of a normal tree set-up, and often pouring seven beers. This basement can often turn into a dance scene, but it is great for pong during the early and extra-late hours of the night. TDX doesn’t allow team saves, but it does permit use of the environment and the body.

GDX (Gamma Delta Chi) has a two-floored basement, allowing for a simultaneous dance and pong scene. One level of the basement is your standard scene. The lower one used to be an underground pool, and ceilings are thus especially high at this level. GDX allows only two serves, but it plays aces on serves as a cup. Also, GDX doesn’t allow ceiling serves, but team saves are permitted.

Chi Gamma Epsilon, known as Chi Gam, has its basement divided into two sections: Varsity and JV. The Varsity table has a higher ceiling than do the four JV tables, but the same rules are played on all of them. Chi Gam allows only two serves that miss the table, and it doesn’t count ceiling serves. Players are expected to serve the ball to someone when they sink a cup, and team saves are allowed.

As stated previously, Sigma Nu will sometimes play with the uncommon line formation, an homage to past pledge classes of the ’80s and ’90s. However, the basement more commonly plays tree. Sigma Nu allows for three serves. It no longer plays with aces, and environment is allowed. Bodies fall into a weird gray zone: nobody in the basement will call you on it, but they will give you a dirty look. Our advice is to respect the house and respect the basement—just use your paddle.

Psi U mostly plays with shrub, but many brothers prefer to play tree. Unfortunately for those unfamiliar with this rather short basement, Psi U allows for ceiling slams. The brothers of Zeta Psi also mostly play shrub.

As the first sorority to cut ties from a national organization and go local, Sigma Delt’s basement is always open as a female-dominated social space. The women of Sigma Delta are known for their utter mastery of pong. Coining the phrase heard in most every house on campus “Sinking Halves and Respecting Women,” Sigma Delts are a force to be reckoned with in basements—especially their own. Sigma Delts claim pong as theirs and are happy to share that love of the game with all who wish to do so. The house’s official rules reflect this. There must be at least one sister on table at all times, and, when playing with water, they request that the cups be taken from their sustainable cup dispenser. If someone isn’t in the basement, nobody may call line for them. In order to ensure that as many games can be played as possible, the house plays with shrub, and Harbor may not be played on on-nights when people are waiting to play. Sigma Delt’s open basement and rules clearly show how pong can be used as a tool on Dartmouth’s campus to promote equality and fun. All those in their basement and respecting the line can expect to play and have a wonderful time. A game can only be as good as its players’ desire to play fairly, and the sisters of Sigma Delt ensure that rules are respected and upheld within their domain.

Regardless of the basement in which one plays it, pong is a quintessential bonding opportunity. This can be seen in its role as a social event for many non-Greek organizations, including varsity and club sports teams, clubs, and even classes and study groups. Typically everyone in the group will plan a convenient time for an organization-wide tournament and “rent out” a frat basement early during an “on” night (Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday) or during an “off” night (any other night). These tournaments are always open to anyone within the student group, regardless of affiliation, but normally at least one member of the student group is affiliated with the house being used. Pong tournaments are so crucial in fostering team camaraderie that many clubs will hold a tournament every term. In tightly knit sports teams, two separate “rankings” will often develop—one for the actual sport being played, and one for pong. We have observed that, in some instances, certain playing traits will carry over from the given sport, making for a distinct playing style and outlook on pong.

Pong can be played with or without alcohol—and with almost any type of alcohol. While Keystone Light is the most common poison picked, cups can be seen with everything ranging from batch and boozy lemonade, to an IPA of one’s choosing, to hard cider. Recently, White Claw’s hard seltzer has made its way into basements and cups, much to the chagrin of beer-lovers everywhere. Once a term, Sigma Alpha Epsilon hosts “Champagne,” where invitees dress in classy garb and play with sparkling wines ranging from a $7 Prosecco to bottles of Veuve Clicquot. However, an important terminological change must be noted: when one plays pong with champagne, one should call it “Champong.”

There is an argument that pong, like all drinking games, encourages a drinking culture. To a certain point, this argument has merit, and the length and mere fact of our article might be seen as confirming the argument. A team holding table could easily consume fifteen beers over the course of a few hours. Certainly, there are variations of the phrase “losing means drinking, drinking means winning, and therefore losing means winning” espoused by alumni as far back as 1975. However, to play pong, one is not required to drink. An Alpha Chi ’79 emphasizes this sentiment, stating: “For all the folks who say [pong] only encourages drinking alcohol, please note that we played plenty of water pong when we didn’t want to drink beer.” Today, as nights grow long and players’ tolerance becomes stretched, cups filled with beer get spilled onto the floor—much to the chagrin of new members responsible for cleaning the basement—and get replaced with water for the next games. This desire to not push students past their limits could be attributed to numerous features of pong. The most cynical explanation might be that as pong is a team sport, teammates have a practical interest in preventing one another from over-indulging, lest overall performance suffer. There is also a more tender explanation, to which we largely subscribe: the camaraderie brought about by pong can breed mutual respect that incentivizes all players to look out for everyone’s best interest. After all, there is no honor in winning a game against someone incapable of truly playing it.

Another important element of pong is that, through the ages, students have found ways to endow games with mirth. A Sigma Kappa ’74 recalls a fond memory of dragging a pong table onto his front lawn for a game on a lovely spring Sunday morning, only to see then-President Kemeny walking down Webster Avenue with his wife on the way to church. Naturally, he greeted them warmly with a jovial “Good Morning.” In the late evening of November 6, 2016, two unknown students stole a regulation-sized piece of plywood from a construction site and carried it across the Green. One student, after spending hours in Chi Gamma Epsilon’s hot tub and consuming a good deal of wine, fondly recalls her decision to fill cups with leftover Chinese food rather than alcohol. Certain houses might use empty cases of beer to build a wall in the center of the table and play “battleship”—each side decides where to put its cups, and each player blindly lobs the ball over the divider to try to sink the opposing side’s ships.

While pong may be just a game to some, it is the respect of the game that defines its value on Dartmouth’s campus. People call lows on themselves as a way to hold themselves to a high standard. Close calls are often left to the discretion of those closest to the cup. There are rarely referees in a basement. Instead, there is an overriding sense of honor that each player tends to have—one that is taught, reinforced, and cherished in every house and on every on-night. Life-long friends are made across the pong table. Dartmouth’s unique version of pong has become embedded in virtually every aspect of student life, and, time after time, the game has proven beneficial not only to bring friends closer together but also to make friends of strangers. In the wise words of a Sigma Nu ’92: “Pong is emblematic of Dartmouth as a whole. The underlying traditions and love of institution stays, while the specifics change with the times … We still bleed green and maintain that pong is not pong without paddles.”           

This set piece to The Review’s Dartmouth Guide was written by Scotch M. Cara, Erik R. Jones, Joshua D. Kotran, Brian A. Morrison, and John S. Stahel.

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