A poem on the game versus South Carolina
TO THE EDITOR:
Hi, I wrote a poem for the game tomorrow. Hope you enjoy it …
’Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the Southeast, not a QB was stirring, not Renner — he’s a beast.
The tickets were stuffed in the wallet with glee, in hopes that Quinshad Davis would score several TDs.
The players were tired from pushing weight sleds, but the season’s beginning, game plans in their heads.
Coach Fedora in his visor, locks of curly hair abound, hoping, praying James Hurst will throw Clowney to the ground.
When out on the field, there arose such a clatter, Tar Heels with high hopes and Gamecock dreams to shatter.
Away to Columbia I’ll fly like a flash, bluebloods in a frenzy when the Carolinas clash.
The coach of the Cocks had success in the past, but these are Fed’s Tar Heels, smart, physical and fast.
Now Renner, now Morris, now Ebron and Blue! On Davis, on Boston, on Martin and Hughes!
The Tar Heels are ready to invade Williams-Brice, perhaps some trickery here and there, some rolling of the dice.
Many pundits bow to the mighty SEC, but the real Carolina is here to knock impostors on their knees.
Start your tailgating tonight, get your grills fired up, if you do have a drink, do so in a He’s Not Here cup.
The battle is upon us, we pray for victory, if I die before kickoff, a Tar Heel dead I’ll be.