I was lethargically reworking classic Christmas carols for this week's post when Dawg2011 seeded my silly brilliant mind with a devilish idea. Given the assumption that much of this SEC rescheduling ridiculousness centers around the Hogs' dissent about when and where to play the Aggies, one could argue that the grand pooheadsbahs at Arkansas are partially responsible for the current lack of a new SEC schedule. So Dawg2011 suggested I write a "The Petrino Who Stole Christmas" limerick, but he and everyone else here should know by now that there's no way I could ever stop with just a limerick.

I also feel that I should add the caveat (because you never know when some bah humbug will show up here with a distinct lack of Christmas cheer) that I, of course, do not believe this poem to be an honest, journalistic account of how this scheduling debacle has unfolded. I realize that Petrino has little or nothing to do with scheduling. But it's Christmas and SEC power-brokers and Dr. Seuss and Petrino and Cherokee's Grip and...well, add all those things together and you get this disasterpiece masterpiece. I'm sorry this all runs together, but for the past several weeks, the post editor does not recognize any paragraph breaks I make after the jump. With apologies to Dr. Seuss (and the Grinch, who does not deserve this comparison):

How the Petrino Stole Christmas

Every Dawg

logged on Dawg Sports

liked Christmas a lot...

But Petrino,

who lived west in Arkansas

did NOT!

Petrino hated Christmas! The whole Christmas season!

Perhaps lack of football explained his sad reason.

It could be that he felt he'd been screwed on the sked;

he wanted to play Aggies elsewhere instead.

But I think that the most likely reason of all

may have been that his heart was a leaden football.

But,

whatever the reason,

his heart or game logs,

he sat there behind his desk, hating the Dawgs.

Staring down at the desk with a Petrinoey frown,

getting the picture of the festive Athens-town.

For he knew every Dawg in his mental display

was eagerly waiting to find who they'd play.

"Tigers or Gamecocks?!" he mocked with a sneer.

"They're brimming with football and Christmas good cheer!"

Then he grunted, his fingers furiously drumming,

"I must keep that schedule and Christmas from coming!"

For, that weekend, he knew...

All good girl and boy Dawgs

would wake up bright and early and would rush to their blogs!

And then! Dialogue! Dialogue! Dia-logue! Logue! Logue! Logue!

That's one thing he hated! Dialogue! Logue! Logue! Logue! Logue!

Then the Dawgs, young and old, would sit down to a talk.

And they'd talk. And they'd talk.

And they'd TALK, TALK, TALK, TALK!

They would study Dawg line-up like they sideline did walk,

and remember the one whom the goal line did stalk.

And then

they'd do something he liked least of all!

Every Dawg logged on Dawg Sports, the tall and the small,

would discuss the new schedule, as if they'd be winning.

They'd talk tongue-in-cheek, and the Dawgs would be grinning.

They'd win. And they'd talk.

And they'd Grin, grin, grin, grin!

And the more Petrino thought of the Dawg-Christmas-Grin,

the more Petrino thought, "This will never begin.

I've stopped things in Georgia half-way through before now;

I must stop that sked from coming!

But how?"

Then he got an idea!

An awesome idea!

Petrino

got a wonderful, awesome idea!

"I know just what to do!" Petrino squealed with great glee.

And he drafted his brain-wave before it could flee.

And he sooied and snickered, "What a Petrinoey trick!

With this song and this dance, I'll sound just like Li'l Nick!"

"All I need is a forum..."

Petrino looked ‘round.

In this digital age, one was easily found.

You can't stop the signal,

this truth Petrino knew;

his assertions on facebook and Twitter, they flew.

He affixed his hog's head colored deepest blood red-

he wore the foul thing to hide horns on his head.

Then

he loaded some words

and talked to some old hacks;

he did voice his complaints

and league's patience did tax.

Petrino said, "Jerryworld!

Kyle Field! Blah blah blah!"

To the blogs of the Dawgs

Petrino said, "Ha, ha, ha!"

All their mutt'rings were dark; baleful words filled the boards.

Dawg Sports Dawgs were all thinking thoughts most untoward

about giving ol' Bobby his just reward.

"I support relegation," an irate Dawg fan hissed;

Then he gave a great woof as he shook his clenched fist.

Head Hog's grumbles were frail, light as a neutrino,

but what else should a Dawg fan expect from Petrino?

He got stuck only once, for a couple of days,

when it seemed like the schedule would come out apace,

but the SEC powers pulled off an about-face.

"We'll make them," he grinned, "care about where we play."

Then Petrino sat back with a smile most unpleasant,

and smiled while blogs predicted future from present.

Gamecocks! No, Tigers! Jerryworld! Kyle Field!

Check yer boards! No schedule? Come on! Please yield!

And he savored their ire. Then Petrino sat smugly

as football fans, one by one, blogged things ugly.

Then he slunk to the fan shots. He laughed at Dawgs' talk.

He laughed at Dawgs' line-up, made fun of Dawgs' stock.

He laughed at those fanshots with gifs made of flashes.

He laughed at their want of a list of Dawg clashes.

Thus he stopped that ol' schedule's release with much glee.

"And NOW!" grinned Petrino, "Wait indefinitely!"

Petrino relished the wait as his plan did succeed.

He knew that no person his vict'ry could impede.

He flinched e'er so slightly at the dinging report

of receipt of an email from the mayor of Dawg Sports.

Petrino'd been queried by blog's fearless leader

Who wanted some answers for his loyal readers.

The email politely asked, "Petrino, please tell,

Why are you our schedule trying to quell?

"You think yourself clever, so smart and so slick,

I see through your lies, and think you're a Da'Rick.

Now unhand next year's sked so bus'ness can resume;

I can blog a response and don Santa's costume,

getting back to my family, away from your guile.

I hope you enjoyed this missive from Evil Kyle."

Petrino glared at the screen but sneered in contempt;

Why from his master plan should Dawg Sports be exempt?

He rolled his eyes and absently scratched at a horn;

didn't Dawg Sports know that the Internet is for...

He ended his musings

and deleted his mail.

He took a deep, calming breath, and then he exhaled.

No pompous blog big-shot would cause his plan to fail.

Not a single reply

did he write to T Kyle;

he continued the Bulldogs' Christmas to defile.

Then

he did the same thing

to the other Dawgs' bloggers:

Leaving naught

as a jot

to those inbox-cloggers.

‘Twas the night before Christmas...

all the Dawgs, still a-bed,

all the Dawgs, still a-snooze,

were not in Petrino's head

as he laughed at their quandary, their ire, their gum-flapping!

Their hatred, their loathing, their near-constant yapping!

Three thousand words on hold! No schedule, no reply post.

"T Kyle's Christmas Day is compost!

Ha Ha on the Dawgs!" he was Petrinoishly humming.

"They're finding out now that no schedule is coming!

They're just waking up! I know just what they'll do!

"In-by my calculations-a minute or two,

All the Dawgs logged on Dawg sports will all type, "*Boo Hoo!"

"That's a sight," purred Petrino,

"That I simply must see."

So he waited, his eyes glued to monitor's face.

He grinned as posts popped up all over the place.

His eyes had to race to keep up with the pace.

But the posts were not sad!

Why, their timbre was merry!

They couldn't be so!

But they were merry! Very!

He goggled at Dawg Sports!

Petrino did stare!

He was shocked

At the general lack of despair.

Every Dawg logged on Dawg Sports, the tall and the small,

Was joyful! Without any schedule at all!

He hadn't stopped Christmas from coming!

It came!

In spite of no schedule, it came just the same!

And Petrino, his beady eyes narrowed in thought,

Sat puzzling and puzzling, "It shouldn't've ought!

It came without schedules of games or of times!

It came without T Kyle's blog post sublime!"

He puzzled three hours-or maybe ‘twas two;

with Petrino's mathematics, the tallies, they grew.

"Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a sked.

Maybe Christmas, perhaps, is God and family instead."

And what happened then?

Well, on Dawg Sports they say

that Petrino's lead heart

grew more befuddled that day.

Then the sked was released and T Kyle did post,

and Dawg Sports again showed why it's better than most

by talking and toasting with great Christmas cheer

and celebrating the glimpse ahead to next year.

And it,

It itself...

Dawg Sports was beyond peer.

*They might also type something less family-friendly, but I'll leave those specifics to the commentariat's ever-fertile imagination.