In the comments section of the literary competition post, a couple of you mentioned ravens and the possibilities of what they could say. Either great minds think alike, or, like a certain someone we all know and love, I've become too predictable. Poe was predictable in his unpredictability; "The Raven" is known for its unusual cadence and intriguing wording. Given the way Larry Munson is known for his gravelly voice and ability to turn a phrase, I felt that "The Raven" was the right poem to use. With apologies to Edgar Allen Poe (although I doubt he's in any better condition to receive them now than he would have been when alive):
At midnight after gameday's folly, while I pondered, melancholy,
O'er an online page of numerous calls of great and glorious renown,
I clicked the link, still madly mumbling, suddenly there came a rumbling,
As of some one gravelly grumbling, grumbling loudly from Athens-town.
"'Tis the great play-caller," I whispered, "grumbling loudly from Athens-town-"
So I turned the volume down.
Some of the play-calls I remembered from September to December,
Each one kindling a sparking ember, a bright and shining golden crown.
Eagerly I rapt did listen, every word causing a frisson
As if each were on a pointed mission to wipe away my surly frown-
Each one wonderfully working on removing my sad and woeful frown.
And found I solace in every down.
Spoke he of Belue to Lindsay, a play of phantasmagoric whimsy.
The Dawgs were on the 8, in trouble, ninety seconds on third down.
None in Florida's stand-up five could stop the three-play, miracle drive.
Lindsay's footrace brought alive the stadium Munson said crumbled down-
perched upon a busted chair in the booth that shook and toppled down.
Perched, and marveled, at Scott's touchdown.
Then the gravelly voice was telling a tale that set my heart to swelling,
‘cause he was to Dawgs' defense exhorting the Tigers' drive to drown.
"You don't win trophies with flags, you guys," he said, his voice all worldly-wise,
"Tigers want wins much more than ties; we need a play in Athens-town.
Though we're winning fourteen to nine, we need a break in Athens-town."
Quoth the Munson, "Hunker Down!"
And the Munson, sitting tensely on the busted chair, did defense see
come and hit Bo Jackson intensely way back on the twenty-one,
seven yards from scrimmage's start; Dawgs and Tigers five apart.
"Tigers want to break our hearts; on third and long, guys, stare them down!
Don't bend or break or yield the field; on second and long, guys, Hunker Down!"
Again quoth Munson, "Hunker Down!"
With Auburn Tigers in a bind, defense hit them from behind
and forced them back to thirty line to make it third and twenty-one.
Before they threw a nine-yard pass, Munson said through moving morass,
"I hate to keep saying this, guys, you know, but watch this, now, and Hunker Down!
If you didn't hear me last time, you guys, then hear me now, and Hunker Down!"
Quoth the Munson, "Hunker Down!"
The Tigers threw on fourth and long; Bulldog coverage stayed close and strong.
Dawgs broke it up, and redcoats burst into song, causing testy Tigers to frown.
"I won't ask you to do that again, you guys, but look at the Sugar falling outta the sky!"
As play-clock from 3-2-1 did die, they carried off Dooley in Athens-town.
A Georgia fan ran across the field, his red pants bright like Athens-town.
Quoth the Munson, "The defense hunkered this thing down."
I, by morning, as was fitting, still was sitting, still was sitting
Listening to the voice of Munson, that broadcaster of great renown.
Hobnailed boots and noses broken, Lady Luck's benevolent tokens,
And worse-than-bonkers stadiums awoken drove away my gloomy frown.
Not e'en my stiffened whatchamacallit could force me once again to frown.
As we relived each Dawg touchdown.
Today-your birthday-is very special, this poem for my love an imperfect vessel.
But with rhyme and rhythm I'll gladly wrestle to give you metaphorical crown.
May Lady Luck be your attendant; to your legend may none make false amendment.
For property destroyed, may none make you defendant; avoid a visit from Bobo the Clown.
This weekend may we-confronting odd Bulldogs-see nary a sign of Bobo the Clown.
And may you Always Hunker Down.