Eagle5 on Auburn

Not THAT Brother {Oliver}!  Taking one stiletto in the back from a bammer-at-heart coach (who butchered the Auburn Creed in the pregame locker room as interim head coach) once is enough for me, thank you, even if he does have a great blitz package. 

I speak, instead, of the elusive glory days of Auburn football, evading us for nigh on five years now if you judge by the breathtaking litmus test of 2004. 

The cyclical cruelty of college football is well established, yet ignored by greedy fans, fueled as it is by the primordial savagery of recruiting competition (and its “unlevel playing field” if you take my meaning), player attrition or failed talent evaluation, and the rise and fall of coaching regimes to name but a few factors. 

Some segments of Auburn faithful, who as a rule are beloved for their passion and patience,  today seem less inoculated for the bammeresque microwave mentality.  In most respects, this is positive, to the extent it signals the death of the eight wins, late December bowl standard of success that may have sated the palate of prior generations.  But the mentality can also be a bear trap (pun intended) which fosters an NFL-ish culture of disruptive instability that in fact contributes to bad cycles.

As one Auburn fan observed, it is all too easy to contract optical rectalitis after the rollercoaster of tsunami offensive production which ebbed to one-foot baby pool since Fayette Nam.  But I humbly advise here the long-term view of the Auburn Tigers, starting with the attitude our promising recruits seem to embody.  Barring a shocker, 5-star RB Michael Dyer will announce for Auburn on November 6th.  Auburn remains in it for 5-star RB Marcus Lattimore, who makes an official visit this weekend.  RB Lache Seastrunk and WR Trovon Reed are still very much in the picture for the Tigers.  Coach Chizik is playing with house money in the linebacker sweepstakes with the state’s three best (that’s my story and I’m sticking to it) in Jake Holland, LaDarius Owens, and Jawara White, along with Georgia linebacker phenom Jessel Curry who will enroll at Auburn in January.  At this stage, a Top 10 signing day class is probable, and Top 5 class not impossible.

So why do I take this patient position?  Just blinded by sunshine, you say?  Well, actually, it has less to do with orange and blue sunshine and a lot more to do with logic (minoring in Philosophy has its benefits, few though they be).   Like so:

1. Coach Chizik is our coach (and I’m glad he is based on the “big picture” - moves he has made, the fact he is an “Auburn man”, and his upside).

2. Barring some outrageous issue that arose (fireable offense) which won’t happen, he will be our coach at least through 2012 or 2013.

3. A “pure” analysis of Coach Chizik’s head coaching ability is impossible to make under current circumstances. The jury is out on CGC, and will return in 2-3 years with a verdict.

4. The staff is recruiting lights out, especially given that they are up against negative recruiting including our record last year, in-state media antagonism, and poor play the last three games.

5. Regardless of who our head coach is 3-5 years from now, he will stink up the joint UNLESS HE HAS SEC-CALIBER TALENT AND PLENTY OF IT to deploy.

6. : Ergo, be positive and patient.  Be “that guy” that recruits talk about at the Tiger Walk, and why they want to wear the blue jersey.  Only a fan who has optical rectalitis  would believe that any positive result comes from joining the cacophony of critics, boo-ers, or naysayers, or prophets of doom.  Analysis?  Absolutely.  My purpose is not to squelch free speech.   (Tip of the day:  How do you know if your “analysis” crosses the line from analytical to destructive?  Can it be used against AU in recruiting?  Are you going to become a YouTube ”hero” like the jackleg who booed at the AU airport?  To paraphrase the U.S. Supreme Court justice’s opinion on the difference between art and pornography . . . “I can’t define it for you, but I know it when I see it.”)

Ah, the age of microwaves, $.99 iTunes, relationships by text message, and instant Nirvana . . . Bah gawd, give me a national championship, and give it to me now!  Why me?  Why ain’t my team winning like the Gators?  And the gridiron gods reply . . . WHY NOT YOU?  It was only five years ago that you had the most magical, impressive regular season in the last 20 years of the SEC, and yes, you wuz robbed of the BCS Title shot with USC, but DON’T BE A BAMMER.  The BCS title game is a mythical national championship.  As much a media created champion as an on-the-field champion, as much as every fan would relish the “mythical hardware”.

Our day will come again, Auburn, and when it does, we will savor the conquest like a fine Napa wine that was aged in the cellar (bad metaphor, sorry) for the perfect, preordained period of time.  The truth of college football is, if you take the bammer view (championships are all we are happy with) you will by definition be miserable at the close of about 90% of seasons.  If you dub me a champion of mediocrity because I state the mathematically obvious here, then I will meet you at high noon in the town square, and fart in your general direction. 

“Frequently, the difference between success and failure is the resolve to stick to your plan long enough to win.”

                  – David Cottrell

So it’s all about adherence to the plan.  There is a plan, and while bumpy and even ugly at times for now as both staff and players deal with first year transitions, I believe in Coach Chizik’s plan.  Here’s the adherence formula ($1 to Lee Colan) . . .

Strategy + (Focus x Competence x Passion) = Achievement Level

(Where “Adherence” = the exponential elements of Focus x Competence x Passion).  

Research of corporations and teams will show you that what sets high-achieving individuals and teams apart from their peers is adherence to a strategy.  A mediocre strategy with strong adherence will produce better results than a brilliant strategy with minimal adherence.  What I’m calling adherence here is in football, I believe, synonymous with “continuity” in a program.  Building the pipelines, creating a sense of long-term stability so that players and their Mamas believe their son is going to a college where the coach they chose will be the coach at their graduation.  Changing coaching staffs happens, and is essential at some junctures as it was for Auburn in 2008, but you damn well better understand the disruption factor.   It is not low risk, and requires a minimum 2-3 year transition period for a return on investment.

While winning a beauty (if you can call their style of play recently “beautiful”) contest right now, the bammer nation will sooner than later learn a painful lesson about the pricetag for selling your soul (forgive the presumption here) and surrendering institutional control (again, forgive the presumption here) for a head case coach. 

If you’ve been watching closely, our 2010 recruits almost to a man refer to the sense of “family” as their deciding factor in committing to Auburn.  If we are indeed an “Auburn Family” as we proudly brand ourselves, we should realize that we’re in this gig together.  We can and should be the “Passion” in the adherence formula.  For me, that includes an early departure this Saturday for the bloody mary venue of Auburn vs. Ole Myth.  Get your rear, or some other good Auburn fan’s, in your seats by 11:00 a.m.  There is no excuse to “sit on” your tickets when there are plenty of less fortunate Auburn fans who would never forget the opportunity to be there.

If you’re a long-term investor, Auburn is a “buy” right now. Wait til 2010, you missed the window. This month is the 5-year low on the AU stock price. Day traders, load up on bammer and Florida, but have your finger on your “sell” button.

See you at the Tiger Walk at 9:00 a.m. this Saturday!   And remember, change is inevitable, but misery is optional.  

Eagle5

 (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