Tales from an athlete-driven, COVID-filled apocalyptic hellscape

APRIL FOOL’S: This article was published as part of The News-Letter’s annual April Fool’s edition, an attempt at adding some humor to a newspaper that is normally very serious about its reporting.

I had no idea the situation would get this bad. This is a chronicling of my experience with the athlete apocalypse. I’m writing these journal entries to warn people about the dangers that the Hopkins athletes may pose to our campus, and I will also offer ways to help students adequately prepare for isolation.

Earlier this week, the University announced that athletes will be allowed to gather in “very large” clusters. Administrators claim that they will maintain safety measures but did not explain what these measures would entail.

I, along with the rest of the student body, felt utterly shocked by the dangers of this decision. I knew I had to prepare for the inevitable outbreak that would shake our campus to its core. 

I have begun gathering the necessities. These include the basics, like water and food, as well as things like textbooks to ward away the athletes if necessary. I recommend that you, reader, stock up on these supplies to save yourself from impending doom. 

T-1 Days

Campus grows quiet. My friends and I have gathered supplies and have constructed escape plans should a crisis occur. I have barricaded my room. I plan to sustain myself entirely on a diet of Krispy Kreme donuts, water and crickets. Fortunately, there is only over a month left in the semester. We must believe we can survive. 

Day 0 

The day has come. Our student body — with the exception of the athletes, of course — is sheltering in place. I spent today looking out my window, watching hundreds of athletes wander around campus. They appear unconcerned, frolicking about, lying on the Beach and raiding the cafeterias. No masks, no social distancing.

The absence of the rest of the student body has encouraged athletes to use the entire campus for their practices. I’m certain that we are only days away from a full outbreak. The administration has sent an email stating that there is no reason to worry and that they are, in fact, still on campus. I fear for everyone’s safety… 

Day 1

My friends, the first hundred COVID-19 cases have been confirmed from the athletes’ bubble. There is no going back now.

I suspect there are many, many more undetected cases that will appear in the coming days. Hopkins faculty remain on campus for now, but if there are as many cases as I suspect, they must escape to safety.

I can’t help but think back to an email Ronny D sent earlier today: 

“The athletes are having a lit time on campus. Everyone needs to chill, bro. Everyone is perfectly safe, periodt. Peace out, Ron.”

Are they, Ron?

Are they really safe?

Day 2

After only two days of isolation, a group of students from my building have grown tired. They left their barricades and the safety of the apartment and ventured to campus. Several of my friends were in this exodus — I hope I can see them again one day. Two-hundred new cases were reported today, but the school has yet to announce any changes to the plan.

Day 4

I must apologize for skipping yesterday’s update. I ate 30 Krispy Kreme donuts by accident and had a massive sugar crash. The crickets have been relatively enjoyable, I may add. I have accidentally consumed 90% of my rations, so I am unsure as to how much longer I can last here in my room.

Since my last update, an additional 400 cases have been confirmed. I’m terrified by what tomorrow may bring.

Day 5

My fellow comrades, it is a full-blown apocalypse. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if every student was infected. The school has made the decision to immediately remove faculty and staff from campus. It is too dangerous to bring athletes back to their housing, so they will have to remain on campus for the time being. They will survive on their own. 

Day 6

COVID-19 has now mutated; from what I’ve heard, the infected are becoming zombie-like creatures scouring for protein powder and repeating “Do you even lift bro?” in a haunting trance. 

Day 9

I can’t take it any longer. I’ve run out of food. I crave Krispy Kreme. I have decided to venture to campus with the hopes of restocking my supplies.

I have lost contact with my friends and family. All alone, I walked to the Beach, my body quivering with fear. 

I spotted an athlete! Another! Dozens headed toward me, walking stiffly with their upper arms out to the side and their forearms pointing down. Wow, clearly they do lift. I think this may be the end. I will hide this account in a bush where I hope it may one day be found to document the apocalypse. 

THEY’RE COMING.