T'was the night before Festivus
'Twas the night before Festivus, when all through the boards,
not a troll was stirring, not even the Spin Room posters who are out of their gourds.
The bowls were scheduled on the PVR with care,
in hopes that fluke 75 yard Chip hail marys would soon be there.
The good posters were nestled all snug in their beds,
while visions of Jim Donnan and Terry Tate danced in their heads.
And mods on the board, and I at my keyboard,
had just settled in after beating back the troll horde.
When out on the boards there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my TV to see what was the matter.
Away to the board I flew like a flash,
tore open the PM Inbox, and was there in a dash.
The glow on the monitor from the new-posted threads
gave the lustre of midday to my booze below,
when, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but paranoid trolls in the Alabama BOT acting quite queer.
With a little man coasting on his father's name,
I knew in a moment only Paul Bryant Jr could be that lame.
More rapid than Bama recruit academic waivers Paul's lackeys came,
they would do whatever his bidding was they knew no shame.
Now Ray Watts! Now UA BOT!
Now Brian Mackin! We've got the lot!
No to the stadium!
No to the donations!
No to the salaries and justified compensations!
No to Jimbo Fisher!
Have Neil Callaway instead!
A few years of him and you'll be as good as dead!
As dry as a California drought the money well ran,
it all went exactly according to their game plan,
so up to Tuscaloosa PBJ and the BOT flew,
with a sack full of money, and stadium renovations too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard Ray Watts say
the decision to slay the football program would be yea.
As I scratched my head and read the report,
it stated the obvious: of course compared to fevered dreams reality falls short.
Ray did not care, from his head to his foot,
he had done what his handlers wanted, and made UAB football kaput.
A bundle of multi-million dollar projects for Bama PBJ hung on his back,
He didn't even care that he was obvious, what a sorry sack.
His eyes -- how they were empty. His jowls, how huge!
He'd crushed kids lives -- what a Scrooge.
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
and his enormous forehead, my it did glow.
Control of the BOT he held tight in his fist,
He sought to make sure non-Bama sports didn't exist.
He had a broad face and an enormous gut,
Like Jabba the Hutt, but without slave Leia smut.
He was chubby and plump, a sour old d***
and I grimaced when I saw him, and averted my gaze quick.
With a wink of his eye and a twist of his head
soon gave me to know UAB athletics would be dead.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
and assigned Ray Watts to be his lackey jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
and giving a nod, while the rest of the world did doze.
He sprang to his BOT, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove out of sight,
"Please go away quietly, and do not put up a fight!"
We're not going away quietly. Operation Breathe Fire launches Christmas Day.
|
![[Image: enter-dragon-poster.jpg]](http://asia-1.org/wp-content/uploads/2009/04/enter-dragon-poster.jpg)
