buckford
Toller Guy
A Michigan Christmas
'Two weeks before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a new coach was stirring, not even a louse;
The banners were hung in the old locker rooms,
In hopes that there would be an end to a seven-year gloom;
The players were sequestered with playbooks marked in red,
While visions of past beatings still lingered in heads;
And English in his jacket, and I in my wrap,
Had just settled down for the season?s debacle re-cap;
When out on the field there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the film room to see what was the matter.
Away to the fifty I flew like a flash,
Tore down the sideline in a forty yard dash.
.
The glow of scoreboard on the new-fangled grass
Gave the bluster of greatness to our mediocre class,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a Lexus from Toledo filled with ex-Mountaineers,
With a shrewd little driver, so clever and odd,
I knew in a moment it must be Saint Rod.
More rapid than beagles his assistants all came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Booger! now, Boggle! now, Bubba and Nixon!
On, Billy Bob! on Stupid! on, Blunder and Gibson!
To the top of the House! to the highest of stands!
Now lose all your hill gear, and welcome the bland!"
So up to the Big House the cling-ons all flew,
With spread offense sketches, but defenses too few.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down to the sideline came Rod with a bound.
He was dressed all in lycra, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were tarnished with ashes and soot;
He had escaped from Morgantown with his coat tails on fire,
From Mountaineers who had thought to build him a pyre
.
His eyes -- how they squinted ! His mouth like a bow,
And the nose over his chin continued to grow;
I noticed his fingers crossed over and beneath,
As he approached, he spoke through bleach-white teeth,
Promises of loyalty, he?s a Michigan man,
For the Big East Conference, he don?t give a damn;
The Big Ten, that?s where he will nestle,
He?ll beat up on Zooker, and then take on Tressell;
"I love you so much, You know I won?t quit,
Never mind that I tanked it, when we played Pitt."
But he merely raised the volume on his IPOD?s tuner.
When I asked him about the bowl game with the ?sooners?.
And with that all said , he curled up his nose,
That had long since grown down to the tip of his toes;
And he jumped into the Lexus, headed toward Lake Erie,
And would not stick around for anymore queries;
But as he drove off, I could hear him exclaim,
"I promise we?ll compete with old Notre Dame!."
'Two weeks before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a new coach was stirring, not even a louse;
The banners were hung in the old locker rooms,
In hopes that there would be an end to a seven-year gloom;
The players were sequestered with playbooks marked in red,
While visions of past beatings still lingered in heads;
And English in his jacket, and I in my wrap,
Had just settled down for the season?s debacle re-cap;
When out on the field there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the film room to see what was the matter.
Away to the fifty I flew like a flash,
Tore down the sideline in a forty yard dash.
.
The glow of scoreboard on the new-fangled grass
Gave the bluster of greatness to our mediocre class,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a Lexus from Toledo filled with ex-Mountaineers,
With a shrewd little driver, so clever and odd,
I knew in a moment it must be Saint Rod.
More rapid than beagles his assistants all came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Booger! now, Boggle! now, Bubba and Nixon!
On, Billy Bob! on Stupid! on, Blunder and Gibson!
To the top of the House! to the highest of stands!
Now lose all your hill gear, and welcome the bland!"
So up to the Big House the cling-ons all flew,
With spread offense sketches, but defenses too few.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down to the sideline came Rod with a bound.
He was dressed all in lycra, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were tarnished with ashes and soot;
He had escaped from Morgantown with his coat tails on fire,
From Mountaineers who had thought to build him a pyre
.
His eyes -- how they squinted ! His mouth like a bow,
And the nose over his chin continued to grow;
I noticed his fingers crossed over and beneath,
As he approached, he spoke through bleach-white teeth,
Promises of loyalty, he?s a Michigan man,
For the Big East Conference, he don?t give a damn;
The Big Ten, that?s where he will nestle,
He?ll beat up on Zooker, and then take on Tressell;
"I love you so much, You know I won?t quit,
Never mind that I tanked it, when we played Pitt."
But he merely raised the volume on his IPOD?s tuner.
When I asked him about the bowl game with the ?sooners?.
And with that all said , he curled up his nose,
That had long since grown down to the tip of his toes;
And he jumped into the Lexus, headed toward Lake Erie,
And would not stick around for anymore queries;
But as he drove off, I could hear him exclaim,
"I promise we?ll compete with old Notre Dame!."
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