A few points on the ancient male ritual of pantsing:
1) It obviously should be practiced in the right place and with the right people:
(1a) Doing it on the quad is a no no. You might shock the lady at the nearby snack shack. (Although not necessarily. Ida at our school's kiosk woulda gotten a big kick out of it. I can still imagine her cackling away.) Obviously, it should be reserved for areas of relative privacy. Like the practice field. That's where my formative experiences with pantsing took place. Any nearby girls were usually thoroughly pissed if they chanced to be too far away to get a good look. Nothing's worse for a young lady than to hear descriptions of men's tackle secondhand, especially when she could have appraised them firsthand.
(1b) It should only be practiced among friends, and always in fun, never to be mean. Negative experiences above seemed to be in the mean category. I don't remember any times when it was done on someone who would really be upset by having his shorts pulled down. Even I, hung like a chipmunk, felt it an honor to be depantsed.
2) You have to be of the right age. Young. And stupid. I can't imagine pantsing any of my buddies now. Well, maybe at the gym, or after a big game. Preferably slammed.
3) It's a guy thing. I've noticed a few of the fairer sex have joined in the discussion. Primarily in a censorious manner. Just don't. I feel there are always gonna be things women don't understand about what men do, just as men will never understand anything women do. Do I chastise women or call them out for somehow needing to ask some other women to go with them to the bathroom? Men would never ask another guy that. (I don't even believe gays do that.) Do I speak with opprobrium whenever women feel compelled to cluster together to buy plastic food containers at drastically inflated prices? Men drool over - and put themselves in hock for - motorcycles and trucks; women over Tupperware. Vive le difference! But I suppose censure is preferable to women joining in or taking over men things. Sports used to be a guy thing. Now we see muscled women in a cage match. Men used to wear the pants in the family. Not any more. We nearly had a trousered female President. The British are to be applauded. Their head of state, the Queen, still wears dresses (and carries a handbag to boot). Oh, well, enough grousing. I have a cake in the oven.