The game preview is on hold until later tonight, but, in the mean time, I offer you quite possibly the corniest thing I have ever written:
all the Beavers were stirring, awake in their houses.
The rain gear was hung by the doorway with care,
in hopes that gameday soon would be here.
The Beavers were nestled all snug in their beds,
while visions of victory danced in their heads.
And Mama Beaver in her orange, and dad in his black,
could not settle in for one long last nap.
The day finally came and there was no more waiting
The anticipation was gone that they had been creating
They threw on their orange and new Beaver caps
And drove down to Reser without using a map
When out on the tunnel there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my seat to see what was the matter.
when, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but a new entrance video that nearly made me drop my root beer.
With a little old coach, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Riley.
More rapid than eagles, his coursers they came,
and he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
"Now, Dogget! Now Darlin!
Now Moore! and Newton!
On, Sabby! On, Al!
On, Bernard and Ruben!
From sideline to sideline!
Go get me that ball!
Now dash away! Dash away!
Dash away all!"
Too much time on my hands? What?
Can it pleaaase be Game Day?