In retreating to the scriptures this morning, I came upon a stat that put things in perspective:
With the headless, mutant hate child sprung from a guru’s loins and starved in the withered womb of the athletic complex, Auburn gained 53 yards in the first half yesterday – only eight yards more than the 1893 Tigers gained against Alabama with the Flying Wedge in the opening possession of the first Iron Bowl. Oh Foy, oh McKissick… oh Shackelford, Dorsey and Buckalew. Oh Burns, oh Blackmon, oh Lester, Todd and Tate! Retrieve thy tally-ho of yore!
These are the days when you hate yourself for ever weighting the faith of your inner man with a blog’s obligations. I want to write well. I want to pour it all out in genius prose, fix everything with a poem. But right, right, right, I haven’t the time.
Instead, I quoth the Media Guide:
…..We’ve got a choice: get out and push, or fair-weather it over somewhere else. There’s no room for booing. We’re stuck with what we’ve got, and we’ve got to get behind the team and help them out. There’s no money to throw at yet another quick fix. Only hard work, and time, will fix our current woes.
…..War Eagle! It’s great to be an Auburn Tiger! Let’s get behind our team, and cheer them on, no matter what! It’ll get better. Our players know we’ve got their back.
War Eagle, till I die!
(And beat the hell out of Tuscaloosa.)