Many Dawg fans are divided over what actually happened in the SEC Championship game. In fact, reading the comments and posts from even our own relatively small (but high-quality) corner of the Internet reveals differences so stark that it almost seems as if different people were watching different ballgames. Did our team quit or did they fight to the bitter end against insurmountable odds? Is Isaiah Crowell soft or too injured to play? Did Bobo call a crummy game or was he a victim of poor offensive execution? Are you proud of our Dawgs because of the way they played the first half or ashamed of them for the way they played the second half? With such division, my poetic selections this week are appropriate given that they were written by a man who understood that good and bad--or innocence and experience--are equal parts of life.
Well, my first two poems are written by William Blake, author of Songs of Innocence and of Experience, a collection of poetry that captures both aspects of similar objects and situations. The first poem is the optimistic take (a "Song of Innocence," if you will) and the second one is the negative take (the "Song of Experience"). The final poem is based on a Wordsworth selection called "Surprised by Joy." I had not originally planned on writing this third poem, but tankertoad mentioned that Bobo always seems surprised to be playing O during the second half. Unlike a certain OC, I can adjust at the half, so I dedicate this final poem to tankertoad, whose apt observation inspired me to
silliness greatness. With apologies to Williams Blake and Wordsworth (and to those who don't like the weird formatting, which includes me):
The red-coated band
does make happy the fans.
Young children, agog,
woof welcome the Dawgs.
The stadium thrums;
its energy hums,
wafts louder around
‘til kick-off's woof resounds
and the ball will carom
‘round the echoing Dome.
Bobo of Dawg clan
calls balanced game plan
sitting up in the booth
coaching Bulldog youth.
Tigers pull away,
Yet Bulldog fans say,
"We made it this far
with young future stars."
The sun sets in the gloam
o'er the echoing Dome.
Though the Bulldogs are weary,
Dawg fans can be merry,
for Dawgs can defend
ten wins at season's end.
Bulldogs' talent-stocked cupboards
will propel our team upwards
to dizzying heights
‘neath Atlanta's lights.
Yet now we'll head home
From the darkening Dome.
I went to Atlanta last week
and saw what I'd bemoaned in poem:
Our offense was yet again missed
when we tried to win in the Dome.
And the hands balls this offense did drop,
and "Thou shalt not" writ in red zone;
so I turned to the defense again,
but they could not win on their own.
The second-half play-calls were poor,
And poor Carlton Thomas was beat.
And refs with thin stripes were flagging false gripes
And willing with whistles no Tiger dismissals.
Surprised by O--we start the second half?
I turned to share confusion-Oh! With whom?
But Grantham wasn't even in the room,
for he's the head of defensive staff
and plans more than the first half-what a laugh.
If it ain't broke, don't fix it!
‘Cept for balance,
and for a double dose of wild-dawg dalliance;
let Grantham cover any of my gaffes.
Why did first and bomb not work? I do not know.
Carlton Thomas will run it up the gut
for one--one only--hard-fought, hard-earned yard;
at least I'm not in an offensive rut.
I wish I had a tight end who plays hard,
but I don't, so I'll just bomb...pick six? Say what?