Tuesday, January 03, 2006

From my buddies in Austin

I got this from my main man Easy-E, whose homoerotic imagery of himself and roommate Jeff in various states of undress will be forgiven for penning this gem of poetry about Texas quarterback Vince Young.

'Twas the Night Before Victory '

Twas the night before Victory, when all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a louse;
The pennants were hung by the toilet with care,
In hopes that St. Vincent soon would be there;
The Orangebloods were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of crystal footballs danced in their heads;
And Jeff in his g-string, and I in the nude,
Had just settled down, watching the tube,
When out on the street there arose such a clatter
I sprang from the sofa to see what was the matter;
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Kicked at the beer cans and threw up the sash;
The street light on the breast of the new-fallen rain
Gave the luster of lunchtime to the grate on the storm drain,
When, what should I observe from my den,
But a pimped-out ride and eight giant linemen,
With a badass quarterback, a regular prince,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Vince;
More rapid than eagles his linemen they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Studdard! now, Hills! now, Scott and Sendlein!
On, Garcia! on, Blalock! on, Thomas and Allen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now pound away! pound away! pound away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the linemen they flew,
With the ride full of Victory, and St. Vincent too;
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
The beating and shifting of each giant hoof;
Down the chimney St. Vincent came with a bound;
He was dressed all in Nike, from his head to his ass,
And his clothes were not tarnished by the Rose Bowl grass;
A bundle of Victory he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a champion there opening his pack.
His jukes, how they confused! His passes, how they flew!
Shows how much the voters really knew!
In his mouth were two roses, on his finger was a ring,
It was obvious from his presence that he was the king;
He was 6'5", all power and speed,
And I applauded when I saw him, a badass indeed;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And gave us all Victory, then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a juke, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his Caddy, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle,
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"F&%$ them damn Trojans, and to all a good night!"

Please note, that if and when Vandy EVER got anywhere close to a national title in football, that I would be similarly inspired.

Maurice Clarett: from penthouse to big house in three short years. Yikes.


Anonymous Kyle said...

Well I just got back from polo and I am beat. I am currently doing some research and stumbled across your blog. Which makes me laugh really. The web can certainly land you off base sometimes. Even though your site is not completely related I think it is a nice blog. I have read back through the archives and lots of people make some good points. Kyle

2:29 PM  
Anonymous Tacker said...

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