Eagle5 on Auburn

Manly Tiger’s Call To Arms . . .

Not in the cold of January shall the steel of the champion be forged, but in the suffocating August furnace, amid the clanging iron of the war room.  And he who shall rise victorious from the ashes of the southern wastelands in November shall be he whose spilt blood signs the forehead of the warrior as this testament:  we go not unto a field, but to a battleground.  Who shall be found worthy on this battleground?  What grizzled veteran is weary of waiting, and of the upward seep of mediocrity, and will rise up in anger to claim the prize?  What young and unheralded David shall heed the call to arms and slip the smooth and lethal stone in the pouch of his sling, destined for the vile head of Goliath?  Who shall pay the price of repetition, and press his body past the sting of death so that in combat, he shall scoff at death?

He does not practice, he trains for a death struggle as if defending homeland, wife, and children, and in fact, he is.  He drives on through pain, moved by the vision of defeat at the enemy’s hands from yesteryear, the sting of battle disgrace and the bowed heads of his people.

He who wears the blue jersey, and committed heart and soul to our cause, to right past wrongs and raise high the victor’s crown in the Loveliest Village.   The foundation hath been laid, and the world of conquest lay all before him.  Now shall be the time, for tomorrow is not promised.  Seize the mantel of glory today, and let the cry of victory rise up in the sweet Auburn air.  

Ready for war, men of Auburn, whether young or old. We proudly send you into battle, and shall enjoin the battle on the field of Patrick Dye, in the Loveliest Village in deafening roar. Ye shall put the War back in Eagle in brutality of defense, and invincibility of ground and air attack. We have not time for fear nor hesitation, only execution of a battle plan which is brilliant in its simplicity, and lethal in its unfolding.

Welcome, war of ages. We shall be ready. We are coming.

 (Vol. XII, 2009, Auburn vs. Unibursity of SaBear, Jordan-Hare Stadium)

And Lo, the Whip of SaBear hath cracked, and twenty thousand elephant kneck barbarians howl at the gates of the Loveliest Village.  From their slime infested holes they crawl, slithering like the serpents they are upon the land that God calls His own, our homeland, fairest of all southern lands, sweet Auburn.  Here, ‘neath the ancient oaks is beauty found, and here, in these hallowed halls of learning is honor taught, and doth all who dwell here seek that which is highest.  The vile invaders march head held high in arrogance, spewing their slobbery claims of conquest and Heisman hype.  And verily, they mock, scorn, and laugh, and foretell of ruin, rape and pillage on this soil.    

By the Sword of Bo and the arrow of Sully, I do prophesy this day, it is the blood of the elephant which shall spill, and the Dwarf of West Vance who shall be slain.  The gods of the gridiron hath grown angry, and in their ire hath cried out to the angel of justice to visit vengeance unto the dark Lord, SaBear the Small.  He conquers not by skill, nor by honor, but by deceit, a mercenary without belief, enjoined by the betrayer, Willis, whose treasonous act on his mother land hath banished him for all time from the land which gave him life.  No man of Auburn is he, and stripped of the helm of orange, and armor of blue.

And Lo, hath the sour strain of soothsayer symphony whined and screeched a cacophony of crimpson koolaid.  They follow not the code of battle this day, and giveth not unto our proud warriors even a nod of respect.  The eyes of each elephant kneck warrior gaze unto Atlanta, where the jaws of the Gator ready for elephant feast.    

Woe unto the warrior who wouldst dishonor the most deadly battlefield, the Battle of Iron, on which the blood of many hath been spilled for naught but the Right of Bragging.  The haughty shall be humbled, the rich sent away empty, and only the readied warrior lifted up in this war to end all wars.  All else is but mythical, forgotten, a crown of fool’s gold and contrived conquest.     

We shall be instruments of the gods’ justice, one day henceforth, and channels of their anger at the Dishonorable Dwarf.  We shall rise up without fear, for we fear not death on the Field of Dye, only dishonor.  Urged on in the deafening roar of our arena, shall our warriors strike the crimpson beast with apocalyptic force.  Depleted and outnumbered, we shall strike the head of the beast, as didst David slay the Philistine in days of old.  And as the leaderless army thrashes wildly in vain, shall they be funneled into the narrow corridor of Jordan and Hare, where their numbers count for naught.  Into the Tiger’s lair shall they march, and shall they fall by the hundreds. 

The victory shall be for good and right, and not for gold and silver, as with the Knights of the Red Club, procuring weaponry and warrior to all who wouldst sell their soul unto the Dark Lord of West Vance. 

And Lo, no child shall lead us unto battle, but a King rich in bloodlines, and born to fight, bred to battle – King Chizik.  One day henceforth, shall he draw the sword of the righteous, and shall he fight with the strength of the hosts of heaven.  And offering not mercy unto the vile and corrupt invaders, shall King Chizik open the gates of hell upon the Field of Dye. 

Ready yourselves, People of the Plains, and awaken the echoes of Nineteen and Eighty Nine.  In your faces at the Walk of the Tiger shall the ferocity of the righteous show, and in your larynx raging furor shall our warriors find force.  And Lo, shall King Chizik enter battle with but fifty brave souls who care not what the enemy forces number.  The sacred battle plan is hatched, rested our are warriors, and readied for the task.  They battle for honor, the glory of battle, the blue jersey, and cannot be defeated. 

Thine eyes shall see the glory of Gus, that gasses the fat bellied crimpson beast, before the next sunset.  Battle shall be changed, a new order established, before the wide eyes of swift and strong onlookers, who shall pledge unto King Chizik their enlistment.  And the red headed marksman, Boy Elroy, shall be swallowed up in the cyclone of assault, dazed and disoriented in his aim.  And on this field of Running Back U shall the heismanly dream of Ingram die.

And lying in pancaked posture shall WhooLeeOh not rise again, and the Ramuh-Jamuh be silenced.  And as the orange sun doth set against the deep blue November sky shall the People of the Red Overall in horror flee, and limp tails tucked into the jaws of the Gator.  And somewhere in the land of double wides, shall redneck Ricky rant, and rant, and rant.  And thousands of toothless trailer dwellers shall hurl themselves into the raging river, their visions of thirteen dashed.

And Lo, the mirth and merriment shall commence, and the Corner of Toomer be stormed, and shall the streets be solid white.  And shall victory grog be swilled, cheer-wenches yell, and dance-maidens dance.

Amen.

Manly Tiger

Auburn Tigers    27     Unibursity of SaBear  24    

(Vol. XI, 2009, Auburn vs. Georgia, 14 November, 2009)

And Lo, as the day shortens, and darkness falls, omens surround, and to all who wouldst hear, and listen, doth the ancient gong of war sound.  Beware! Leaves are rustling in the woods, and things are falling off thy shelves.  The plates of earth rumble and shift. They pound a sacred warning which only the wise may hear.  Familiar in the deep recesses of memory, and ancient, is the rumble ye hear, a primordial drumbeat of death to the unworthy warrior.  The Corner of Amen.  Into its narrow and treacherous corridor hath the Great Corner funneled scores of weaker warriors unto slaughter, purifying the battlefield of the impure, who battle not for country, but for self.  It is on this great battlefield, and not by scribe nor soothsayer, that the sacred book of Tiger lore is written, for it asks the ultimate sacrifice of he who wouldst dare enter the arena.  No place for young boys nor maidens is the Corner, and in its wake is left the blood red trail of the fallen, and the carcass of the unready warrior for the birds of prey to feast.

Arise, Tiger-walking minions, and larynx-raging youth! The Day arriveth.  By the sword of Dooley and the armor of Dye is the word spoken, in hushed tones.  Amen.  Amen.  Welcome, ancient warrior’s test, Oh Corner of Amen.  Ye cometh to cleanse the battlefield of the unworthy, and to bestow the right of bragging to the southern conqueror.  Oh Corner, who laughs its relentless scorn at the fat-bellied yankee warrior, who endureth but one or two scrapes, and not nine fights to the death.  It careth not of past battles, and rewardeth only the ready warrior.  Its battle lore hath been painted with the blood of slain Goliaths, and with triumphant Davids, whose flagging campaigns restoreth their glory in this solitary clash.  Into this corner, this lair of dread and danger, shall march only the boldest.

Who from among ye will ariseth, and prophesy of warriors found worthy in battle, and of the fierce defense of our fair maidens and young?  Who will entereth the Land of Big Hair and Milwaukee’s Best to silence Ooga and swill the victory grog?  Have thine eyes not seen the bone-jarring battle deeds of our young warriors, and the coming restoration of Tigerly pride?  Verily, I prophesy unto thee, a plan of divine proportions now formeth, even as scribes and soothsayers babble senselessly, and see not the approaching storm.  The corner of Amen shall expose the over-hyped, and restoreth the balance of Tiger power.  And the fat-headed fools shall be silenced. 

We built not this army upon chest-thumping victories over defenseless foes.  Of that food is borne the fat head of future defeat.  Lo, as steel which is forged in the furnace, hath our army been readied in the flames of stinging defeat.   There, shall the young warrior wrestle as he must with the angel of doubt, and arising victorious, battle fearlessly thenceforth.  Bruised, but not beaten, defeated, but not dead, and steeled in their resolve were our warriors, rising up to put down the rebellion of Ole Myth on All Hallows Eve.  And felled in the battle of Hallows Eve was our proud warrior, Zac.  And Lo, emblazoned upon our battle armor is the number four, as we march onward to avenge his loss.  We march now confidently to to a most ancient battleground known as Jordan Hare East.

One hundred and twelve number the battles in this most ancient of wars.   Fifty and six to the Tigers, fifty and six to the People of Ooga.  Fifty and seven shall be enscribed in orange and blue upon the sacred book of battle lore.

There dwelleth the People of the Dawg, a smelly, squatty and over-bred brood who mysteriously barketh forth battle grunts and Tiger taunts despite scant battle lore.  The People of Ooga, squatty pugnosed Leghumpers, loud in the taunting, and whimpering in battle.  Confused is this race in identity, alternating in battle armor from red, to black, to red and black, black and red and white helmet, to all black, all red with white boot, hopping at battle’s start in the tribal dance of the Soulja Boy. 

And Lo, even now, this pack of hunkering pugnosers with their big-haired, big-bodied dog-wenches bowleg boldly toward their tailgates of malt liquor and foul meats, pausing only for right leg-lifts at unsuspecting foliage, or to sniff and whiff anatomical unmentionables.  And, lo, these prophets of the Dawg do slander the great name of the Tiger, and in vile defiance doth this leglifting race grunteth forth their Tigerly taunts, and call us the Tiger Eagles of the Jungle Plains.  And, verily, the People of the Dawg are shrill in the bark, but soft in the bite when battle rages past the October harvest.  They drink not of the cup of brotherly respect that adorns the table of the Tiger, but instead swill and spew the big-headed brew of unearned arrogance. 

Now summoneth forth King Chizik his angry warriors, who one night henceforth in the land of the Hedges shall avenge the Dawgly streak of three.   They have added unto to their number the lightning speed of the Squirrel, and he shall leave many lumbering slow pugnosers in his wake of great velocity.  And even as the hyperventilating hounds race left and right, hither and thither, shall the power of Smashmouth be unleashed.  In the distance shall the onlookers here the sound of the locomotive, but its force shall be embodied in Ben.  In this, his last Corner of Amen, ‘tween the hedges, shall he lay claim to greatness, and shall his name be added unto the whispers of Running Back U lore. 

And Lo, shall the Dawgly marksman, a mere red-headed dwarf, be swarmed by a slobberknocking onslaught of dredlock rage.  Gazing with horror upon the exploding malatoff cocktail of Malzahn, shall the Dawgly leader, King Sling Blade, lay down his arms in surrender at battle’s half.  Tired and beaten, he shall be spared, and exiled from his kingdom to minister unto the whimpering pugnosers, for King Chizik is honorable, and seeks not the death of the defeated, if also honorable. 

Ye of little faith.  We entereth now the Corner of Amen, and a Great Amen shall go up.

And much victory grog will be swilled, tissue tossed, cheer-wenches yell, dance-maidens dance, and finest meats fed the Tiger.  And a day of reckoning fourteen days henceforth shall await the Crimson Kneck Elephant Tide, who shall bring their meek streak of One on the trembling knees of their bungling marksman, Opey, into the deafening arena of Dye, where first didst they taste the death of the unbeaten dream, twenty years thenceforth.

Amen.

Manly Tiger

Auburn Tigers   38    Leghumpers   23

 (Vol. VIII, 2009, Auburn vs. LSU, Tiger Stadium, Red Stick, LA, 24 October, 2009)

It came to pass in the year of the blind zebra, two thousand and nine, that a plague of yellow flags, bobbled balls, and fallen defenders didst visit the holy land of the Loveliest Village, sent to sift loyal subject from betrayor, and proud warrior from coward.  For King Chizik, in his wisdom, hath surveyed the chinks in the orange helm, and the blunt edges of spear and sword, and prayed unto the gods to purify our race, and to strengthen our ranks, even if at the cost of defeat.  

And Lo, I return this day to the fearless nation of the conqueror, and do here prophesy what ye shall see with your own eyes, commencing one day henceforth.  And in your seeing, shall you again believe and cast off the mantle of the underdog, who doth hope for the best, yet expect the worst.  For in the deadly and dishonorable lands of the Swamp, the Dawgly wasteland, and the stench of West Vance are the unconfident slain.

Yet even now, doth the stench of deep fried coon ass corn meal wafteth through the swamp of Red Stick, home of King Lesticles, so dubbed for the surgical implant of an incorrect anatomical part into his tiny brain. 

The Valley of Death.  Land of the Serpent, James of the Carvilles.  Home of the vile unwashed masses whose drunken hysteria visits anarchy upon all visitors in the night air of Bataw Rooje.  And as hath been written, and passed down from generations, the People of the Corn Dog are so named for the malodorous contempt which infuses the very epidermis of this refugee land.  Battered and fried is the Dog of Corn.  And Lo, battered, covered, smothered, and scattered shall be the People of the Battered Wiener on a Red Stick.  For they shall be found with Les, and be exiled Miles into the stench of their underwater wasteland.  Rancor and treason rises from within their ranks, and a plot to overthrow King Lesticles hatches even now. 

And now, cowering not from defeat in our dwellings, hath our people arisen, and raised their voices as one:

“Rise up, Tigers!  Cry not of the excuse of the defeated, and drink not of the wine of despair, for battle rages on, honor the prize.  We shall march with thee this day, unto the land of the unclean.  On the mighty shoulder of Ben shall we first crammeth the football down their foul throats from which these mouth-breathers do emitteth forth the remnants of corn dog and malt liquor.  And then, shall the arrows of Malzahn find their weakened flank, felling the pompous purple defenders.  And in this land of unwashed, sausage-subsisting, swamp-dwelling faux-French do they lie in ambush, hoping in arrogance to restore their battle honor by the blood of the true Tiger.”

Lo, they know not the death which shall be visited upon their homeland soil, one night henceforth.

In cover of night hath King Chizik hatched a lethal assault, and kept from watchful eyes the might of our forces.  For peaceful lies the Tiger, until in righteous anger he is stirred.  And the babbling boobs hath roused the beast . . . from his lair the plates of the earth rattle and shift, a sacred summons unto war.

And Lo, I return this day to the fearless nation of the conqueror, to prophesy of bravery to come, an assault unforeseen.   Holy and brave people of Auburn, dream not of future glory!  Our chiseled warriors sharpen arrow and spear, and gird their loins for battle.  Firm is their resolve, and steeled their glance.  Strong is their love of country, and brother, and no disunity breaks their ranks.  They know well their battle plan, and fire funnels up their nostrils.  For Lo, shall they swarm as if a pack of Tigers uncaged, yet as one . . . for the strength of this pack shall be the warrior, and the strength of the warrior shall be the pack.  Though outnumbered, we shall fight with the ferocity borne of hunger and scorn, the food of the conqueror.   

And Lo, the scorn of the soothsayer and mockery of the scribe is but a gnat upon a mighty beast.  King Chizik is undeterred in his sacred quest, seeking not the love of the scribe, as hath the Dishonorable Dwarf of West Vance.  He genuflects not before the false prophets of gloom, and accepts no audience with the slobbering soothsayers of doom.  Mouth breathing fools!  Ye speak as if trained in the art of war, yet hath not once distinguished thyself on the battlefield.  Not once hath your bloodshot eyes gazed upon the Sacred Book of War, in which are recorded the battle deeds of blue-jerseyed heroes, whose blood was spilled for the honor of this land. 

Unto what chromosomal mishap hath the Feaux Tigers pledged allegiance?  King Lesticles, a man of cursed anatomy, reversing at birth his man-loins and brain.  A man of inaudible mumblings, and confused ranting, unaware of his naked emperor’s march unto certain death. 

And long into the cool October eve shall the sweet smoke of victory riseth up in joy, but shall a dark cloud of doom encircle the West Vance prisoner camp, where the boy King, Lame of the Kiffins, shall invade and seize victory from the Crimpson Kneck Elephant Tide nation amid wailing, gnashing of teeth, and brick hurling. 

Amen.

Manly Tiger

Auburn Tigers   31     LSU Corn Dogs   24

(Vol. VII, 2009, Auburn vs. Kentucky, Jordan-Hare Stadium, 17 October, 2009)

And Lo, didst the proud warriors of the Plains march unto ambush in the land of Willy the Slick, Fayette Nam.  A dread curse was purveyed unto the dark lord of the Hogly nation, King Bobby the Backstabber, and its poisonous spell cast upon the Tiger warriors even as they slept in battle preparation. Elusive is the Dark Lord from the long arm of the law, wanted in many lands for crimes of treason, and welcomed by no land save the mutant land of the Swine, for subhuman is this species.

Sleepwalking in the elixir of the venomous curse didst we enter battle, our warriors stumbling in aimless stupor, bungling and fumbling where once we had dashed and roared, smashed and scored.  Blunted were the broadheads of our once lethal arrows, and unchallenged was the ghastly swine marksman, Drago the Giant. 

Six days hath our song of lamentation fallen in the drizzle of October upon the Loveliest Village.  Amid this defeat hath our people receded into their dwellings, and the smack talk of the conqueror gone silent.  But Lo, it is with divine purpose, not destruction, the sting of defeat, and the angel of the victor, sent by the gods who even now smile upon our land, hath whispered this truth unto King Chizik.  He hath purified with holy water the foul venom of the Dark Lord, and awakened now is each warrior, resolute in his cause, and pressed onward by the anger of the righteous.  Gathered as one, the army of the burnt orange and navy, didst they stand heads bowed, as King Chizik stepped from the shadows.  And Lo, before the wide eyes of his army, didst King Chizik draw his sharpened sword, raise it aloft with both arms, and thrust it deep into a solid rock amid the tribal gathering, and spaketh thusly:

“On this day, shall this be known as the Sword of Rocker, our brave general who humbly doth serve, and whose mere visit upon the ancient battlefield didst send the unworthy foe in flight.  No warrior who dares to wear the orange and blue shall enter battle without touching this sword, and pledging only bloodthirsty ferocity in the arena of Tiger battle.  Nor shall he cry in pity of the enemy outnumbering our army, for it is the glory of battle which fills the Tiger’s spirit, not the certainty of victory.  Be it understood, brothers all, that should a warrior touch the Sword of Rocker, but be of false intent – he shall be struck instantly dead.  And Lo, never again shall the name of the Tiger be blasphemed by the sight of hapless, fat, fumbling or frightened warriors.  And though defeat may mark the honorable warrior, never dishonor.  Come forth, now only ye manly, and depart ye soft skinned, to be banished from the land of the Tiger evermore.”

And then, didst every warrior one by one arise, and as if aglow in the fire of conviction, and placing his right hand on the sword, didst utter the oath of the Rocker.  And there, didst an Angel of Strength visit the fallen warriors, and the spirit of David entereth, which legend holds is passed in secret to the troubled heart of the defeated warrior, restoring him in strength and courage. 

And on this day, with a Mild Cat prowling the outskirts of our homeland, intent on invasion, I prophesy not of doom.  A plan, sacred in its foundation, crafted by the gridiron gods yet transcending human understanding, unfolds before thy sinking eyes.  Great shall be its story, and untold the riches of conquest it bestows on our fair land.  It shall sweep many strong and swift warriors in its wake unto this good land.  

Return unto the Field of Dye, before nightfall, one night henceforth, where we have slain all invading foes, and shall again.  Be not silent, and envelope in deafening roar the unworthy Cats, who dwell in the Land of Hoops, and hath angered the gridiron gods with the idolatry of the roundball.  They shall see, and believe, the might of Malzahn, in the blinding light of the field of Jordan and Hare.  Caught unawares, and defenseless shall be the Mild Cats, battered beyond recognition by a pounding ground assault and renewed aerial attack, dying with but a meow at battle’s end. 

And with victory assured, shall the cry of the Eagle of War return, and shall King Chizik declare a night of rejoicing, and shall victory grog be swilled, cheer-wenches cheer, and dance-maidens dance, sweet smoke of the victor riseth up, and tissue be tossed long into the clear, cool night. 

And verily, shall we ride again unto the road of the conqueror, to the Land of the Corn Dog, vile swamp of the unholy, the Stick of Red.  And there in the night air of the drunken Cajuns, before the watchful eyes of the pigskin nation, shall the sacred plan turn its next page.  And the People of the Plains shall smile. 

Amen.

Manly Tiger

Auburn Tigers   42     Kentucky Mild Cats   6

(Vol. VI, 2009, Auburn vs. Arkansas, Reynolds Razorback Stadium, Fayette Nam,10 October,  2009)

And Lo, didst the people of the Tiger invade the land of the barefoot inbred intent on conquest, and undaunted by the Boy King, Lame of the Kiffins.  King Chizik stood defiantly at battle’s start, and scoffed aloud at the toothless nation, who dared to decree the ban of the Battle Walk.  “Ye shall deny of us the right to assemble peaceably, to walk into battle, and to speak in freedom?  Ye shall desecrate the blood of freedom which our forefathers spilled?  Then we shall march violently amid thy wretched one hundred thousand, casting them aside as if gnats upon the loins of the Tiger.”  And striding proudly didst he march unto the Gates of Neyland, parting the sea of dreamsicle orange as thousands of Tiger crusaders poured into the battlefield.  And there, in blinding speed didst the Tiger assault unfurl before a panorama of bloodied Vols in tears upon the checkered gridiron.  As battled raged on without ceasing didsts enemy warriors by the dozens drop dead in the vise grip of suffocation.  Oh, Fatigue, foolmaker of the unworthy, and friend of the proud Tiger! 

And Lo, at battle’s climax, didst our ground forces strike the loudmouthed, Eric the Rapper, who bore the number fourteen, with the battering ram of Ben.  Crushed was he as if a sparrow, his carcass left for the birds of prey.  Ne’er again shall he speaketh with the arrogance of the conqueror, nor shall he challenge the army of the burnt orange and navy blue.

The smell of weakened prey rose amid the Knoxburg air, and the Tiger circled, closed in, and brought a swift death to the Kiffin charges. 

And without great pause, nor celebration, hath King Chizik led the army of the righteous to a still darker, loathsome land, which few have navigated . . . the Land of the Swine, Fayette Nam.  From ancient battle lore riseth the legend of the People of the Pig, also known as the Whoo-Soo-Wee Tribe, Squealing louder and louder from the Land of Willy the Slick.  This squatty, overfed, mud-wallowing brood hath been given in servitude unto a mercenary war lord, whose sharpened stiletto is stained with the blood of King Tubs.   Led now by a Dark Prince of Deceit, mercenary of many lands, and wanted for treason in our fair land and many others – Backstabber Bob.  Many are the snorting ones who hath in their sty of slop pledged allegiance unto the Dark Lord, King Bobby of the Petrinos, for desperate is this vile band of hogs to win the respect of the conqueror.  One year thenceforth didst the People of the Pork banish and exile their failed King Nutt Case, who himself practiced deceit.  In folly, didst King Nutt banish the genius of the battlefields, Gus of the Malzahns, and shall the Hog Nation face a day of atonement for the sins of their fathers, one day henceforth.

Oh, Darwinian process, shower thy mercies on these southern wastelands, and select from out of nature this swine from our continent!  Verily, instead of cowering in shame, which wouldst befit the curse of a dirt groveling species, they sing proudly of their razored backs, and pugged snouts, and dub swinely names upon their hog-nosed offspring.  Aporkalypse Now, Hawgustus Caesar, Hammy Davis, Rooster Hogburn, Hideke Pigsooie, Notorious P.I.G.   Bemused, confused, oinking and snorting, even as the honorable tribes laugh in mockery and scorn.  Few are their conquests, devoid of crowns their kingdom, and commanding fear from few.

Of envy is this enemy’s hatred born, and their challenge unto King Chizik issued, for they gaze upon our unattainable maidens, who wouldst reject the porkly warrior.  And condemned as they are to their homely cow-hogs, each yellow faced, wrinkle cheeked, and bushy browed.  Bleary eyed and black chinned, and yea, verily, upon their faces the unsightly stubble of a beard. 

But Lo, in sweet Auburn is the chant of the victor heard, and strong is its sound across the Loveliest Village, home of the unvanquished.  There, hath our people gathered in praise, and homage unto the gridiron gods, our prayer and supplication for victory in the land of Spam and Ham lifted high. 

And born on the wings of the Eagle, didst this message, enscribed upon an coonskin, arrive unto the Loveliest Village.  Before the gathering throng at the Corner of Toomer, didst the town cryer read thusly:

“I give unto thee, People of  Auburn, this message from our victorious King Chizik . . . Great and proud People of fair Auburn, we didst march unchallenged in the Land of Neyland and slay the enemy amid thy shouts and victory cheers.  We march onward, with a sacred purpose to rid these wastelands of the unworthy.  Good women and children of the Plains, retreat now unto safe haven, for unclean are these mud-wallowing swine and their slaughter unfit for the young.  Many shall be the fallen hogs, and bloody shall be the butchering – yet victorious shall we stand.  We shall return, two days henceforth, and gather before the ancient oaks for the victor’s welcome!  Ready thy sacred rolls of paper, and brew the victory grog, for unready shall this squatty breed be found for the assault which cometh tomorrow!”

Lo, shall the god of the snot bubble and the belly grunt smile, and shall King Chizik slaughter the hogs.  And marching to battle’s summit, shall King Chizik summon King Bob, and drawing his mighty sword, lop off the head of the Betrayor.

And returning to the holy land of the Tiger, shall the ghastly hog be impaled upon a spit, and roasted before the singing throngs of orange and blue-clad faithful.  And the women and children shall be summoned from hiding to join in song and dance.   And for many nights shall the People of the Tiger replenish their strength in feasts of bacon and of sausage, ham and spam, victory smoke rising into the cool Auburn night!

Amen.

Manly Tiger

Auburn Tigers   45    Pig Sooie    27

(Vol. V, 2009, Auburn vs. Tennessee, Neyland Stadium, 3 October, 2009)

Lo, it came to pass that the gridiron gods didst look with favor on the once tired and defeated warrior of the Plains, and as prophesied, the mountains have been laid low in the path of the unvanquished Tiger.  The dread curse of three and out now exorcised, our army readies for the march northward, unto the land that Colgate and Crest forgot.

I shall not be silenced now, even as battle rages on, and King Chizik untethers the Tiger to stalk his prey, even as his razor-edged teeth flash red of enemy blood.  Come forth, and gather in the conqueror’s den.  The cool October air descends upon this place, and signals the time of revelation, three nights henceforth. 

Before a million watchful eyes, with ferocity and force hath our homeland been defended in battles four, against worthy though unheralded foes.  In ruin lay the sacred book of battle record, shattered weekly by our renewed and lethal marksman, Todd.  Diverse is the arsenal of Gus, without pattern his weaponry; as deadly in its power as it is beautiful in its speed.  On this holy soil hath our grizzled warriors fought, and were they found worthy, and hath our young warriors been hardened by sword and spear.  The slain remains of these unworthy enemies hath been washed from the battlefield of Dye by the purifying rain of the gods, and fertile is our land with the organic matter of the fallen.

King Chizik hath cast aside the doubter, and ordered the exile of he who wouldst cower in fear of any southern foe.  And verily, word travels now throughout the southern badlands of the return of the Tiger, and of our holy crusade to cleanse the southern battlefields of the lawless war lords.  Many are the doubters, giving not the alms of praise, nor ranking amongst the conquerors our proud warriors.  But King Chizik marcheth onward, undeterred in his course, and uncaring of the mythical conquest bestowed by the loudmouthed soothsayers. 

On this day, our proud warriors march in strength unto the road, northward to the land of the Appalachian inbred, Top of Rocky, home of the barefooted banjo pluckers.  No victory grog do they swill, but the putrid moonshine of the moron, and hath they pledged allegiance unto a boy general, dubbed Lame, of the Kiffins.  King Lame hath embittered the war lords of the south, for he has the tongue of the serpent, and venomous is his youthful countenance.  In the swamply land of the Teboy didst King Lame fight mightily, and was felled, yet the people of the inbred drink of the wine of the defeated as if they were conquerors.

Legend holds that King Lame didst send forth a mercenary operative to kidnap the lovely Layla, princess of the fairest cheer wenches of the left coast.  Held against her will as hostage unto King Lame, her prayer and supplication for rescue rises in the air as if a song.  Dishonorable in his ways, hath King Lame ordered the digging of a moat which surrounds the arena of Ney Land, to halt the Walk of the Tiger.  It shall not stand, for Lame has but emboldened our relentless march. 

Lo, hath our army turned their eagle eyes to the northern horizon, to the Land of Low Hygiene, where we shall invade, and claim victory.  Yeah, though we walk in the valley of the shadow of Neyland, we shall fear no Fulmer.  For King Pumpkin Belly hath been banished from the kingdom of the dreamsicle orange, as just desserts for his treasonous act unto King Majors. No easy battle ground is the Ney Land, as the malodorous contempt of unwashed Knoxburgians doth suffocate warriors like the noxious emissions of a Tennessee stud.  And this land is unsafe for woman or child, as the Inbreeders are a barbaric nation in which cousin, sister, brother, father and uncle are indistinguishable one from the other. 

People of the faded orange, ye shall gather thy children and tell of the pillaging and defeat which the great Tiger warriors visited upon the Field of Neyland, five years thenceforth.  There was thy arena emptied at the half point of battle, and didst thy orange-clad minions flee in horror at the panorama of carnage.  Prepare to die again.

We shall visit upon the Ney Land a night of Chizikian horror and the engulfing inferno of Malzahn.  Shocked, and awed, shall be thy Cro Magnon wenches at the sight of their fallen warriors.  The checkerboarded zone shall be crossed not thrice, but four times, at a speed which sucks the oxygen from the orange.

And having humbled the confused tribe of the protruding foreheads shall King Chizik march triumphantly unto center battlefield, and shall he brandish his sword, lopping off the head of King Lame, as his hired assassin shall cry aloud, “Yaw! Yaw!”  And amid this scene of Ney Land horror, one hundred thousand shall be the number of Vols in Tears who shall hurl themselves wide-eyed and screaming into the raging waters of the roaring river below.  And Lo, claiming the Ney Land as their own, the Tiger warriors shall shout in victory, and poureth forth the grog of victory, and puffeth the sweet cigar of conquest.  And their lovely cheer wenches shall cheer, dance maidens dance, until a midnight return to the tissue covered Corner of Toomer!

Amen.

Manly Tiger

Auburn Tigers  34   Tennessee  16

(Vol. IV, 2009, Auburn vs. Ball State, Jordan-Hare Stadium, 26 September, 2009)

Lo, didst the mountain men invade the Loveliest Village,  and as prophesied, “. . . the forces of nature didst converge upon the verdant plains, and gathering the strength of wind, fire and lightning, didst unleash the righteous anger of the gods upon all who wouldst defile the name of Auburn.”  stunned were these unwashed invaders at the ambush which was set, and the ferocity of the encounter.  For King Chizik and his warriors didst await, sword and spear sharpened, an army well fed and readied for the task.  No weakened, starved front lines were they now, as the curse of Otis the Unshaven had been lifted.  I say unto thee, great and mighty People of the Tiger, the word has gone forth unto our enemies, and in their dank, miserable dwellings doth fear furrow their brows, for the secret hath been revealed. 

Cometh last night unto our homeland an angel of truth, adorned in burnt orange and blue, and without a sound, didst the sight of her beckon all people of Auburn to gather, and in holy silence, listen.  And gathered there didst a hundred thousand strong stand before trees awash in the sacred tissue of conquest, as a voice didst boom forth from the heavens thusly:

“Listen, all who have ears.  I come in peace unto this holy land, a creation pleasing unto the gods.  I am the God of the Gridiron, maker of the proud warrior, and watcher in the storm of battle.  No arrow flies, nor spear thrust without my knowing, and my favor rests with the righteous and honorable, who seek not the gold of the deceitful, as in West Vance.  Nor do they purchase as if a slave, the mercenary warrior, and in their conquests win neither a people’s freedom nor a victor’s honor, for tarnished is their crown, and evil is their purpose.  I sent unto thee a test, six nights thenceforth, to judge thy worthiness.  For Lo, is the strongest steel forged in fire, and must the conqueror ride through storm and darkness to seize the victor’s crown.  A great Flood didst I send at battle’s start, releasing the baptismal waters of the Almighty upon this, most sacred and beloved of the Gridiron Gods.  And this was the test . . . would the People of the Plains be found resolute, and stand firm at their army’s side, voices rising up in deafening roar, and shakers of spirit flying?  Ye have answered with the  thundering roar of the Tiger, and the Gods hath smiled, and found thee worthy as a People!  Ye march now unrelenting, as prophesied by the Manly One, in a holy crusade, King Chizik bearing before ye the sacred banner of the victor!  Ye marcheth not alone, but with the Angel of the righteous before ye!”

And verily, didst the orange and blue minions stand firm, awash in the baptismal flood of the victor, and didst no single soul be seen departing as battle commenced!  The shame and fear of defeat hath been swept away in the great flood, as were the enemy mountain men, who were attacked and swarmed by a fast and furious assault.  And deep in the Tiger’s Den now hath been emblazoned upon the plush carpet of the conqueror these four words of battle brilliance. 

Lo, didst the victory Towel of Trooper circle wildly, and many chest bumps of joy encircle our great army!  A million strong watchers of the gridiron didst see, and most believe, but all were served notice of the return of the Eagle of War upon the southern battlefield. 

Evil and dark is the Dwarf King of West Vance, and dishonorable, loathing any who wouldst battle honorably, and earn the praise of the righteous victor.

Seething in envy of King Chizik’s rising power, didst the Dark Dwarf summon his assassin, the frail and balding one, Paul of the FineScums, and his weasel companion, Goat Boy Karle.  Seeking to halt the relentless march of King Chizik’s forces, didst they purveyeth forth the great lie amid the toothless and mindless masses.  Shouting loudly to all who wouldst buy the big lie, didst they slander the holy name of the Trooper, who hath fired the hearth of Tiger courage, and fueled the adrenalin of battle.

But verily, didst the People of the Plains rise up a million strong, and storm the Bastille of the Mediot camp, lopping off the heads of their vile leaders.  And then, didst King Chizik seize the vile assassins, and require of each the naked march through the streets of crimpson mud, also known as Bammerham.  And the god of Shug didst smile.

Cometh now, one day henceforth, no test, but a mere warrior’s drill, and a polishing of the battle plan for the holy crusade into the land of Neyland.  For the army of the Ball State, devoid of the victor’s crown, hath no marksmen nor able warrior.  And Lo, only one Letterman hath they fielded in their short and unmemorable history, and his name is David. 

I shall not waste the mighty voice of prophesy over this mild skirmish, nor ask thy prayer and supplication before this weak and unworthy foe, for their defeat is certain.  We shall flood upon the battlefield our youngest and untested warriors, and shall rest the grizzled veteran for the first test of the road.

The People of the dreamsicle orange, also known as Vols in tears, hath traveled into the Swamp, and were found unworthy.  And yet they froth at the mouth, and swill their victory moonshine, slobbering to all who wouldst hear, “Victory!  Our Thirteen unto their Twenty Three!”  For Lo, this forehead protruding band of barefoot Appalachians know not the operations of addition, and subtraction.  Yet we shall instruct them in its science, and light up the Knoxburg night with the malatoff cocktail of Malzahn, eight days henceforth.

Marcheth on, King Chizik!  Battle four approacheth, and our enemy shall be no match.  Four nights we battle, and four shall be our conquests!   The victory grog shall spill freely, cheer wenches shall cheer, dance maidens dance, and children sing in tribute to all which is beautiful, honorable, and highest in the land which knows no equal!

Amen!

Manly Tiger

Auburn Tigers  51    Fighting Lettermans  0

(Vol. III, 2009, Auburn vs. West Virginia, Jordan-Hare Stadium, 19 September, 2009)

And it came to pass, in the year of Tiger redemption, two thousand and nine, that the forces of nature didst converge upon the verdant plains, and gathering the strength of wind, fire and lightning, didst unleash the righteous anger of the gods upon all who wouldst defile the name of Auburn.  Oh, incendiary flame of aerial assault and burst of blinding speed, hurl upon our enemies the Malatoff cocktail of Malzahn!

Lo, didst the Fire of Gus raineth down upon the red zone of dogly defense, and before the joyful eyes of the holy, were the enemy hounds incinerated.  And Lo, hath the secret been revealed, as prophesied.  Once blinded by a cloud of three yard dust, do we see; once deep in the sleep of the scoreless, hath our army awakened.  Unchained now is the Tiger from his twelve month slumber, and the beast must feed.  The flesh of the unworthy dog invader has but whet his appetite, and he stalks now a larger prey which shall sate his growling stomach. 

For Lo, even now marcheth upon our homeland a black lunged band of inbred mountain men, unwashed and wicked, dishonorable, vile and unwelcoming to the weary traveler who wouldst visit their land.  This people dwelleth underground, digging and rooting for lumps of coal to fire their primitive stoves, and it was from the belly of this land of the protruding forehead that was birthed the evil beast whose reign of terror plagues the southern wasteland – the dwarf lord of West Vance, SaBear.  A strange and destructive lot is this brood, for legend holds that upon battle conquest, they draw from their humble one room dwellings their sole possession, a tattered, soot-covered couch, and there on their primitive streets of mud, set it afire in a bonfire of the boorish!

Toxic is the soil of their mountain land, branchless their family tree, mutant their offspring, and glacially slow the law of Darwin to work its will.  The nature loving troubadour, John of the Denvers, didst purveyeth the lyrical lie in song of this ghastly land, which to this day is bellowed by the mountain morons, “Almost heaven . . .“  What cruel fate shall these simpletons face, one day henceforth.  They shall march eight thousand strong in hope of conquest into the glittering gold paved streets of God’s land, sweet Loveliest of all villages, where their bleary eyes shall be blinded by the beauty of all surroundings.  Verily, for the first time in their short, brutish lives shall they behold all which is beautiful, honorable, and highest in the great food chain of mankind.  Women, at once graceful and stunning, their shoulders adorned with hair of blonde, brown, or auburn, as if flowing upon the shoulders of an archangel.  Children, perfectly conceived, obedient, wise and strong, spirited.  Warriors, as honorable in character as they are unrelenting in battle, prepared to do what they were trained to do; what they were bred to do; what they were born to do – defend this land and march unto conquest.  And a sky of brilliant blue whose hue blends with the fiery sunset of orange as a sign from the gods where their favor doth lie.  Almost heaven?  And Lo, shall the mountain people cry in lamentation, THIS is heaven!  From our dark mountain shall we take exile, and not return, for we have been blinded by the beauty of the promised land! 

Fools!  Thy mutant species of ignorance displeases the gridiron gods, and they behold in horror the ugliness which stains the streets of fair Auburn.   Hear now the shriek of the angel of truth, who hath commissioned King Chizik to rid the wasteland of this blight, Oh wayward people of the mountain holes.  

And striding boldly from the shade of the great Oak of Toomer didst King Chizik raise the holy sword of conquest aloft, and spaketh thusly:  “Oh Eagle of War, who flies high above this great Land of the Holy, and surveys the approaching prey, return unto me full accounting of the enemy strength, that we may lay an ambush of unparalleled blood and defeat!   I call upon every able man and woman of good Auburn, every subject of this kingdom, to assemble one day henceforth, and line the streets of Donahue!  Your shouts of battle resolve shall pierce the warm evening air and work our warriors into an invincible frenzy, and Lo, shall they enter the arena of Dye and carry out the plan we have laid.  And all who watch from their lairs of deceit and dark, smelly caves of evil, shall see, and believe.  The Day is coming, soon and very soon, of Tiger conquest.  Rise up!   Ready your self, and unto thy face etch the resolve of the victor!”

And Lo, amid the disillusion of discovery shall the mountain man’s hope of conquest be smashed upon the rocks of reality, as if a wooden dinghy lured by the sirens.  Planning for battle against the army of two thousand and eight, shall they face the shock and awe of a replenished foe, whose weapons of war grow by the day, and whose battle plan is sent from the minds of the gods who hath looked upon us in mercy.  Before the bloody panorama of slain mountain men shall riseth up the eardrum bursting shouts and the deafening roar of a people intent on vengeance. 

A holy crusade of the People of the Plains shall march unrelenting, King Chizik bearing before us the sacred banner of the victor, its emblazoned symbol the interlocking A and U, which shall strike terror in the hearts of the tyrants of the southern battlefield.  And Lo, shall our warriors march ever stronger, and shall the voices of a million strong righteous from this holy land push them onward unto conquest certain.  And westward from this fair land shall the pulse quicken, and the whistles in their graveyard grow unsteady as the drumbeat of the deadly Tiger beats rhythmically, and as one heartbeat.

And before the lopped off heads of a hundred mountain men, shall King Chizik declare a day of rejoicing, and shall victory grog be swilled, cheer-wenches cheer, and dance-maidens dance, sweet smoke of the victor riseth up, and children toss tissue long into the clear, cool night.

Amen.

Manly Tiger

Auburn Tigers   38    West Virginia Mountaineers  24

(Vol. II, 2009, Auburn vs. Missisloppi State, Jordan-Hare Stadium, 12 September, 2009)

Oh, joyous snowstorm of Tissue, we welcome thy return upon the streets of the righteous!  And Lo, hath the season of wailing and plagues taken swift exit from the Loveliest of Villages, this oasis amid a wasteland of trailer dwelling toothless crimson knecks.  

Here, on this consecrated plot of fertile earth reside again beauty and honor, and the heartbeat of the champion who shall not rest until his mighty hand seizes only the highest of crowns.

First battle, two thousand and nine.  The trumpet of victory was sounded to all who wouldst hear, and understand.  King Chizik wields a mighty sword, and though the angels of justice and right are his guide, he rides upon the great stallion of death to all who wouldst dare invade the lair of the Tiger.   A swarm of pesky bulldogs bowlegged into this arena, six nights thenceforth, boldly proclaiming as didst many false prophets and blithering soothsayers, of their imminent conquest of this land.   Entering the battlefield, and surveying the enemy strength, didst King Chizik stride unto midfield, draw his sword, and raising it high, proclaim loudly: “People of Auburn, young and old, the day of defeat ends here!  I give unto thee a sign – an Eagle, proud and fearless in flight, and with a pure white face, shall enter the battlefield and fly untouched by enemy arrow.  She bringeth unto our army the gift of the gridiron gods – vision, strength, and invincibility.  Raise thine eyes unto the heavens, see, and believe.  And we shall march relentlessly unto our cause, the death of all who wouldst dishonor this land, and dare to challenge us on this soil.”

And as the great King foretold, didst the flight of the eagle commence.  hypnotic in its grace and foreboding unto the enemy in its meaning, accompanied as it was by a deafening roar of a million strong faithful.  Once downtrodden and shamed, their cause was now sacred,  and their crusade now protected on all flanks by the God of the righteous. 

And Lo, was the enemy found unworthy, and their eyes gaping wide in horror as the reality of doom surrounded as if a swarm of locusts.  From left and right, forward and rear, beneath and above didst our warriors attack without conscience, and outnumber the tiny band of bulldogs in unfair fight.   Great was the plan our King didst lay, and before the larynx raging minions ‘neath the star-lit sky, didst our skilled and strong warriors work the plan without flaw.  First, a pounding assault on the front lines, continuing without rest or resistance as the enemy weakened.  And at the appointed time, the aerial assault, blessed and lethal in its design!  Our marksman didst draw back, and release the arrow of death in perfect form into the heart and lung of the enemy, who was felled with but a whimper.  At battle’s end, were an equal enemy number slain by sword and by arrow, by ground assault and by air.  And on that day didst the myth of the weakened Tiger die.  Cheering and mirth returneth, long into the sweet Auburn night.

But battle rages on, and King Chizik resteth not, nor do his Lords of Battle and resolute warriors.  Shall there be no end to this plague of puppies, Oh gods of the gridiron?  Is the beastly, over-bred Bulldog not slaughtered for the good of natural selection?

For Lo, marcheth now from the west a familiar and unimpressive foe.  A band of lawless, illiterate, wild dogs who calleth themselves Bullies, and who dance before battle in mockery of their foe; their dogly peoples banging bovine bells that mute the sweet sounds of sword, spear, club and death.   They are  unholy mutants, a desecration unto the sacred field of battle where honor is bestowed.  They must be put down, as were the whimpering pack of cajun pups in battle one. 

And lo, one day henceforth, shall the full strength of King Chizik’s army be unleashed as if a beast upon the unready foe, and shall death be unfurled upon the new dogly Battle Lord, Mullen, a mercenary of King Meyer’s Spread, who is but a fraud. 

Ye shall behold one after another wooly bully bludgeoned, or trampled by the Bull of Death.  And Lo, shall our marksman Todd draw from his quiver four lethal arrows and fire into the Bully underbelly.  And the arrows will bear the names Darvin, Mario, Terrell, and D-Lo.  With great ease shall the pugnosers be slain, and with the lawless band overwhelmed, shall King Chizik march amid wild cheering to mid-battlefield, speaking thusly: 

Amid the hopeful orange and blue sky now boometh again a voice from the heavens, “Oh, King Chizik, and good People of the Tiger, hear us now.  You are a good, strong, and righteous people, and we smile to see the brave deeds of your warriors, for they have forever cleansed the battlefields of an overbred, unworthy tribe.” 

And on that day, shall scribes pen, “Against a panorama of orange minions, and blue skies, the wooly dog was slain amidst the singing of good people far and wide.  The Tiger warriors stomped a mudhole upon the dog of Heinz57, and proceeded then to marcheth the mudhole dry.  On that day, the football gods smiled, and a new chapter in battle planning was added to the sacred book of Lombardi, with the enscribing of but one name:  Malzahn.” 

And as is the custom of the good People of the Tiger, victory grog swilled, cheer-wenches cheered, dance-maidens danced, and tissue tossed long into the clear, cool night.  And King Chizik didst declare but one day of rest, to prepare for the onslaught of a boorish band of mountain men, whose evil deeds of one year thenceforth shall be avenged. 

Amen.

Manly Tiger

Auburn Tigers  41   Missisloppi State  13