Vanderbilt Open Thread

This will remain @ the top until Monday and serve as a place for any and all impressions on the game. I would normally put in a warning to keep the gnashing of teeth to a minimum if bad things occur, but this is Vanderbilt so you go right ahead if disaster strikes.

While we wait, commenter WolverBean took the Christmas metaphor and extended it to its very maximum. Behold:

‘Twas the night before Football, and through the Big House
Not a player was stirring, not even A. Kraus.
The fans were all nestled up snug in their beds,
While visions of touchdown drives danced in their heads;
And Lloyd in his polo, and Mike [DeBord] in his hat,
Had just settled down to plan this year’s attack.

When out on the field there arose such a clatter,
We sprang from our tailgates to see what’s the matter.
Away to the Big House! We flew there like flashes,
Poured in through the tunnels and down to the hashes.
When what, to my wondering eyes should appear.
But eighty-five warriors, dressed in their gear.

With a little old leader, so lively and coy,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Lloyd.
More rapid than eagles his players they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now Henne! Now Breaston! Now Woodley and Crable!
“On Manningham, Hart, Stewart, Burgess and Grady!

“To the top of the conf’rence! To the top of the poll!
“Now block away! Catch away! Run away all!”
So out to the sidelines, the players they flew,
With a book full of plays, and St Lloyd the coach too.
And then, with keys jingling, I saw on the field,
Aggressive, fast defense was finally revealed!

As I threw up my hands, and was jumping around,
Down the near sideline Lloyd came with a bound.
He was dressed all in Nike, from cap to his shoes,
And his clothes were all colored with Maizes and Blues,
A headset and whistle were hung off his back
And he looked like a general planning attack.

His eyes – how they twinkled! His jowls how set!
His team, how it danced like his marionette.
His hair chestnut brown and his eyebrows were bushy,
His look tough as nails, though his man-boobs were mushy,
A wink of his eye and a nod of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
All the refs knew to play fair or he’d go berserk.
Then waving his hand around over his head,
He signaled a play action pass to split end.
Henne rolled out, threw the ball, it came down
In the hands of The New Math! We all screamed “Touchdown!”
Then Lloyd turned to the stands, and announced to the ruckus,
“Happy Football to all! This year’s boys are tremendous!”

Good Lord. The "commenter of the year" competition is getting mighty crowded these days.

Merry football, kids. I'll try to get something up late Saturday but can make no promises. Sunday, though. I'm going to bump UFR up this year... Monday/Tuesday might be ambitious but we'll see. Tuesday/Wednesday at the latest.