While a dry Veishea isn’t quite as tragic as the plane crash that killed Buddy Holly, Richie Valens and the Big Bopper, it still has a lot of people singing the blues. So listen to your CD, MP3, cassette tape or record of “American Pie” and substitute these Veishea-inspired lyrics for the words in Don McLean’s classic post-plane crash tribute:

A long, long time ago, alums might still remember

How Veishea used to be worthwhile

But I look down Welch Avenue,

And see the place I thought I knew

As blocks stretch on without a brew nowadays

And early April makes me shiver as kegs of beer go undelivered,

Bad news at the Keg Shop, I feared that my heart might stop,

And tears began to sting my eyes as Coke replaced my Keystone Light

And something deep inside me died, the day, that Veishea, dried. So …

(Chorus)

Bye, bye to the good times of old.

Drove my Saturn to Lake LaVerne but was left in the cold

And them good ol’ boys drinkin’ whiskey and Old Style

Were booked right there by campus PD

To spend the night in cell block three …

Did you write this policy cause it doesn’t make much sense to me,

And we haven’t had much say,

Do you believe in Rolling Rock and Miller Lite and Amber Bock?

And what if we promise to drink real slow?

Well I know we’re not in love with this

Because Veishea’s dying bit by bit

As you read this little ditty

Half our school heads for Iowa City yeah

I was a college kid just getting drunk

When I heard the news my stomach sunk

And I knew I was out of luck,

The day, that Veishea, dried.

I started singin’ …

Chorus

Now for seven years we’ve been on our own

With Veishea drier than a bone

But that’s not how it used to be,

Now we’re bribed with tournaments

Like flag football and dunk contests

That are aimed at distracting you and me

Oh instead of kids consuming beer,

And cops dressed up in riot gear

We’ll have a canoe race, as if that’s a fair exchange

And as prohibition comes to Ames,

At least we’ll get to play our games

And we’ve still watched that lame parade,

Since the day, that Veishea, dried. We were singin’ …

Chorus

Back and forth and to the next court

Is sand volleyball a Midwest sport?

Will someone point me toward the beach?

As the crowd looks on with great surprise

The 3-point shooters are breathalyzed

Is that water bottle just a clever disguise?

Now the weekend drags on endlessly

With the sting of sweet sobriety

Let’s give this another glance

Hell Eustachy got a second chance

And as I grab my softball glove

You know that I’ll be thinking of

A weekend people used to love

Before, our Veishea, dried.

Andrew Marshall is a junior in journalism and mass communication from Betttendorf