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.
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 email@example.com