Fifth Annual Ode to The Game
"Joppru et Rumishek Delenda Est"
Blatantly ripped off from Wilfred Owens' "Dulce et Decorum Est"
Navarre bent double, a clumsy beggar on his back,
Knock-kneed, choking like a hag, he cursed his line pudge,
Still on zone blitzes he took many a sack,
Whilst towards the goal beloved Bucks ever trudge.
Clarett's arm bandaged. Olivea had lost his appendix
But limped on, blood-shod. Shoulder went lame; the line too fat;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf to hoots from northern hicks
The tired, twelven' oh warriors stared down the blue rat.
Pass! PASS! Quick, boys! -- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Pounding the ugly helmets just in time;
But Perry still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like the Illini, week past, n'overtime . . .
Beaten by Fraser, decleated by Scott
Stopped on a dime; ne'er going so far
Throttled by Doss, he did like it not
Whilst Silver Bullets made disiecti membra Navarre
Dim, through the scarlet haze and thick gray fog,
As from C Deck, I saw Michigan losing.
As in all my dreams, before my joyful sight
M punts to Gamble, then misses him, loses him, trails him, is beat by him.
If in these dreams you too could pace
By the pile with the twelve that lost before them,
And watch the yellow eyes writh in Ed Martin's face
Tantum Wolverinus potuit suadere malorum
If you could hear, at every jolt, the joy
Come cascading down from all o'er the Shoe
Brilliant as Archie, for them bitter as cud
The Big Ten est omnis divisa in partes due
My friend, you would tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some radiant glory,
The Buckeye Battle Cry: Joppru et Rumishek Delenda est
Ego me bene habeo.