Eagle5 on Auburn

(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