Once upon the April mid, A-Day football on irons grid,
With McCarron, Yeldon, and Bell starring, K.M. swore
This team would be champing, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some ghosts gently rapping, rapping at the title’s door.
‘Stupid Echoes, that,’ I muttered, ‘yerning for that Irish ***** -
Only this, and nothing more.’
Who amoung us can remember the last Irish team to matter in December?
Empty Irish boasts from Holtz just end as spittle on the floor!
Still, thoe ghosts did mumble, and Holtz’ lisp creates a puddle,
bragging that A Champion Plays at the college they adore -
‘But no matter’, said K.M., ‘They’ll get no action from me offshore -
I’ll bet them zero, nothing more.’
I was all so very certain as the season drew it’s curtain
We’d see the same Crimson Tide and Irish as before,
And with nothing but steady beating of ‘Bama’s foes, it bore repeating,
‘Roll damn Tide, the SEC will kick down the title door! -
And the Irish will not matter just as all these years before; -
That’s how it is PAWWWWWWWWL, nothing more’.
As Bama won, resolve grew stronger; worrying about them no longer,
‘This,’ said I, ‘is the best damn team, I do implore.
To they title they aspire, motivated to admire
Another crystal football amoungst Saban’s office decor.’
Yet the Irish kept on winning – cheaply; so I would ignore -
Lucky wins and nothing more.
Deep into that season peering, long I watched, not wondering or fearing,
Comforted by memories of Tuscaloosa titles before
But to the light in South Bend, ghosts had broken, and the Echoes gave no token,
Awoken, and refusing to fade away after close wins more and more
Still I said ‘This Notre Dame team is flatly rotton to it’s core -
Merely chance and nothing more.’
With A&M my dreams upturning, all my soul within me burning,
I faced a possibility that I had never faced before.
‘Surely,’ said I, ‘surely this can’t be the season;
for college football to lose all reason, and the Tide not to enter lore -
And worst yet for the Irish to repeat the days of yore; -
A minor setback, nothing more!’
And so the football Gods came stirring, Stanford and Baylor upsets occuring,
And those doubts some had a week before I rightly did ignore.
Yet still the volley cheer from on high; shook down like thunder from the sky;
And the Trojans failed to right the wrong of the Irish losing neigh
The ghosts and Holtz had the Irish on the championship’s shore -
Insufferable for evermore?
But still K.M. had no need for guressing, with all confidence expressing
that the Tide would win the title, he knows it in his core,
No amount of Irish divining helps when on a stretcher you’re reclining
The Crimson Tide will roll, of this fact I do implore.
And we will all tune into Finebaum after Bama wins one more
Quoth the K.M., ‘Bet some more!’