Annual Ode to The Game

It's become a yearly tradition... granted, it has a long way to go before it can reach the 100th version, but it's back again this year -- Ramzy's annual poetic ode to The Game.

Here before you is the annual attempt at poetry influenced by the Ohio State/Michigan football rivalry, with apologies to Sydney Oswald's The Battlefield…one hundred of them, one in honor of each game between Ohio State and Michigan.

The Battlefield

S'Been said that football is just like a war,

And that players are like soldiers in fight;

While Kellen Winslow's mouth said it's right,

Mouthie misunderstands the metaphor.

Finding adversary could be a chore,

By beliefs or philosophical spite;

Ohio and Michigan, day by night

Hate by the virtue of living next door.

For one hundred years the hatred has lived,

In the hearts and the minds of those people;

Who bleed scarlet and gray, or are feeble

Bandwagoners with their passion contrived

For "Harvard of the West", slogan short-lived

By all who are not worshipping evil.

For thirteen years the Cooper upheaval

Left formerly victorious deprived.

What rivalry? What challenge? What battle?

Decades of competition forgotten,

While annually the Buckeyes downtrodden

Under Coop were so easy to rattle.

Three years after crap creek with no paddle

T'has turned and now the varmints are rotten,

Turning scarlet and pickin' their cotton

While their fake turf can't feed the M cattle.

Ever critical now in year hundred,

That the Buckeyes remained the winners;

And leave losing to maize and blue sinners,

While momentum need not be so blundered;

The Scarlet - John Navarre's throws – plundered,

The victories made all of the printers;

And excuses came'st from every spinner,

While the mighty Buckeye defense thundered.

It's time for the 2002 Gamble,

To completely eliminate Avant;

To neutralize Breaston, PA savant

And make the offensive mountain, molehill.

It's time for the blessing of Craig Krenzel,

To again be the captain commandant;

And serve up just what the Blue does not want,

Besides copious amounts of Smith Will.

As it should be right now and forever,

The victor will be crowned as the best;

Whilst the loser will remain just obsessed,

The Game is the champion's endeavor.

Greater consequences remain, however,

Coming up short will not merit more rest;

But the loser will still have to invest

Passion within blasé whatsoever.

While winning will bring on all the hostile,

The Blue lose will have fall'n short in three;

And if only for Drew Carter's bum knee,

Avoiding Marlin Jackson's beer bottle

From the BCS, UM absentee,

Instead shipped off once again to Disney

From Columbus, a big BCS smile.

Each year, The Game, a hero, created,

On whose back the conquerors he'd carry;

The defeated he simply would bury,

Forever loved and forever hated.

Stakes as high as have ever been weighted

But not saved by a flukish Hail Mary

And certainly never by Chris Perry

An exposed maize and blue, overrated.

Jim Tressel, master of public affairs,

Will win with or without a superstar;

And to the utter dismay of Lloyd Carr

His Bucks taketh what is rightfully theirs.

For all the Nineties' unanswered prayers,

And the losses which were simply bizarre

Stolen away with Tim B. or pine tar

Now repaid in the form of Scarlet shares.

So you Blue: Fear the man in the sweater

There is only one outcome in this war;

The reigning champions win and go far

While the maize and blue tears just get wetter.

This battle on your land and your letter

Is not the best thing for you, John Navarre;

Bring all of the weapons you want - let's spar…

Kellen Winslow could have said it better

Effortlessly spinning dead poets in their graves at ramzy_bucknuts@yahoo.com


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