The worries, the hand-wringing, the pledges to form a committee and do something: "WE'VE GOT TO DO SOMETHING!"

There was something vaguely familiar about the sea of panicky public officials who showed up last week to announce the launch of a Public Gatherings Task Force to clean up Waterloo's Ezra Avenue, that slop pit of student malfeasance where thousands of binge-drinking party animals wreak havoc every St. Patrick's Day.

Like Port Dover to bikers, so is Ezra is to slack-jawed scholars who slurp beer through funnels and throw up on people's lawns.

And as I sat there dutifully taking notes about the need for greater communication and developing synergies between "town and gown," I experienced this weird déjà vu, as if I'd lived through this whole thing before.

For good reason, it turns out.

When I got back to the office I did a quick library search and, sure enough, there it was: the 1995 front page story I wrote when a then unprecedented 1,500 students from Wilfrid Laurier University — and a few hangers on — challenged police to a showdown on Ezra during what was then an end-of-exams drinking party.

"The trouble started early Saturday evening with clusters of revellers swigging from beer bottles on porches and lawns as a dozen police officers issued tickets for minor bylaw infractions," I wrote, noting how the police's "zero tolerance" policy goaded the confrontation.

"It ended in the wee hours with a thin blue line of 51 officers fanning across the street with riot shields in an attempt to disperse what by that point had turned into an unruly mob."

As I stood taking notes, ducking beer bottles, jacked up partiers broke into a spontaneous rendition of John Lennon's "Give Peace A Chance."

"I can't tell you how much we prayed for rain!" WLU housing director Mike Belanger groused on the sidelines as beer bottles showered down instead.

"1,500 students?" I mused, wide-eyed and innocent in that pre-cell phone, pre digital, pre-everything era.

"That seems like a lot."

It was bigger than the year before, when 600 drunken intellectuals spilled into the road, smashed beer bottles and lit firecrackers, landing Ezra in the headlines for the first time.

It also sparked the first task force, with officials calling for water cannons, tear gas and riot dogs before — cooler heads prevailing — they settled for an on-campus bash to lure students away from the beer-guzzling flashpoint.

Good grief — it worked, at least temporarily, which allowed everyone to heave a sigh of relief and go back to sleep.

But the seeds of rebellion had been sown.

And like a beer-chugging phoenix rising from the ashes, the problem resurfaced in 2012, flipping to a St. Patrick's Day bash that — with help from social media — drew a crowd of 5,000.

That number spiked to 7,500 in 2013, even though temperatures dipped, which is the same year "bucket list" and "Ezra" appeared on social media in the same sentence.

An alternate event was held again in 2014 and 2015 to stem the tide, but this time — probably because it was reaching critical mass — the results were mixed.

"While people did attend, the tent was discontinued because it did not relieve pressure on Ezra," noted Laurier spokesperson Lori Chalmers Morrison, adding that students would wander between the two locations.

"It raised additional safety and security concerns, and attracted out-of-town visitors."

Back on the street en masse the following year, the numbers unexpectedly dropped to 5,000 — had the peak passed? — only to quadruple two years later, surging to 15,000 in 2017 and 22,400 a few weeks ago.

Come on, 22,400 people?

That's more than the population of Owen Sound, for crying out loud, a virtual Woodstock-in-the-making, a drunk student Coachella with no purpose but to grab selfies, play beer pong and terrify the neighbours.

Not only is history repeating itself, its expanded like the spatial anomaly in the series finale of "Star Trek: The Next Generation."

"I'd like to roll back the clock on this event," noted Waterloo Mayor Dave Jaworsky at last week's news conference, where it was revealed revellers had travelled from 37 different institutions of higher learning, some from as far away as Buffalo.

"I'm not looking at this as a big tourism thing. We're not the Grand Canyon."

I don't blame him or police chief Bryan Larkin for their genuine, if panicked concern about the chaos unfolding on their watch.

It may be the Summer of Love now, but one wrong move and it's going to be the Watts Riots on steroids.

I do, however, question the flawed nature of historical memory.

Why is it on me, a schlubby, barely sentient arts reporter who can't remember what he ate for breakfast to discover what everyone should already know: that this exact same scenario played out a quarter century ago on a much smaller scale?

"The powers that be never miss an opportunity to miss an opportunity!" laughs Ralph Spoltore, a former Laurier football star and the student president who, in the days before the '95 standoff, tried without luck to convince power brokers to forgo their tough love stance with students.

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"One thing they're NOT supposed to do is spend hundreds of thousands of taxpayer dollars to hire more consultants."

To be fair, the consultants only cost $30,000, but when you add the $713,000 to contain and control this year's blowout, it becomes a farcical comedy of errors.

"How about not turning back the clock but taking a look at it RIGHT NOW!'' notes Spoltore, a volunteer football coach who talks in mostly capital letters and sees the same unfortunate patterns repeating.

"And then partner with students and allow them to have an INCREDIBLE MEMORY!

"Students bring millions of dollars to this community — MILLIONS! And it seems like they're left out of the conversation."

Spoltore's advice, which might have prevented '95's violent standoff, hasn't changed: block off Ezra, hire student security, ban glass bottles. Make it great.

"I see the university put out a statement that it's not their mandate to oversee events like this," he notes, unimpressed with their "not our problem" approach.

"But what about your students? How about going the extra mile and making sure they're safe?"

Instead, public officials seem to be taking cues from the 1984 Kevin Bacon film "Footloose," vowing to stomp out the party within five years like the bug-up-his-butt reverend who tried to outlaw dancing.

Will it work?

Ha, ha. You must be joking.

They would have greater success if they set up giant speakers and blasted Sirius Radio's Yacht Rock channel, allowing the soothing sounds of Kenny Loggins and Christopher Cross to work their mellow magic.

Or seed the clouds above Ezra and pray for rain.

But I understand their desire to see it end.

With impending pot legalization and a growth curve that mirrors Bitcoin before the crash, this thing is too big — and dangerous — to mess around with.

How can anyone regulate a crowd the size of Owen Sound?

Ultimately, the only thing to do is follow Mayor Jaworsky's suggestion: invent a time machine and — like Doc Brown in "Back To The Future" — travel back to 1995.

And when you get there, if you see a beefy football player waving his arms and speaking in capital letters about the need for co-operation, think of that future cleanup bill for $713,000 — plus $30,000 for consultant's fees — and this time listen to him.

I'm fudging the quote, but those who don't learn from the past — or forget it happened — are doomed to repeat it.