‘Twas the night before college football, when all through the land no one was on the field, not even the band.
The goal post were raised, by the end zone with care. In the hopes that Lane Kiffin would be there;
The players were nestled all snug in their bed, while visions of Kirby and The Coach danced in their heads;
And Harbagh in his kakis, and Malzan in his vest, had just settled down for a quick pregame rest.
When out on the campus there arose sounds that elate, fans had already gone out to the lot to tailgate.
Away to the stadium I flew like a flash, tore through the banner and fireworks did flash.
The moon was on the breast of fresh cut grass, gave the luster of linebackers ready to whoop some ass.
When what to my wandering eyes should appear, but a running back, he turned the corner and was in the clear.
With short choppy steps, so dynamic and quick, he was moving like someone’s thumb was on the joystick.
More rapid than Bryce Love he charged to the endzone, and he called out the names of coaches ascending the throne.
“Now, Dino! Now, Dabo! Now, Gundy and Kelly! On, Fisher! On, Frost! On, Saban! On, Leach!
To the top of the poll! Now dive on the ball!
Have Phyllis from Mulga go tell PAUL!”
As yellow flags that nosy referees let fly, when met with adversity, the team never says die.
So up to the playoffs their game plans they drew, with a bag full of tricks, Coach Kiffin has two.
And then, in a rumbling, I heard in the stands, the roar of a crowd and clapping of hands.
As they rose to their feet, creating quite a sound, out of the tunnel Coach Kiffin came with a bound.
He was dressed in Adidas from his visor to shoes, and his players well coached at positions they choose.
A call sheet of plays he had gripped in his hand, and he looked like a general ready to command.
His plays — how they wowed! His schemes how cunning!
Play fakes like magic, defense never saw it coming.
His QB was set, in a pocket so clean, surrounded by linemen, so big, strong, so mean.
His headset held tight gripping over his ear, he was focused, the crowd may have not been here.
He had luscious locks and a smile so sly, it’s no wonder recruits see him and say “that’s my guy.”
He was clever and funny, a true modern day coach, sound bites galore when the media approach.
A change of play, a quick scan of the field, the fans need not worry, his offense won’t yield.
He spoke not a word, but simply winked his eye, this subtle note told his QB to let it fly.
And before the snap he already knew, a touchdown scored and they’ll go for two.
He leapt off his feet, to his team gave a cheer, for the owls knew this one would be their year.
But I heard him exclaim, as they celebrated into the night.
“WHERE ARE YOU SABAN, WE’LL GIVE BAMA A FIGHT!”
Football is back baby.
Holla at ya boy
Twitter: @LlFired
I'll Probably Get Fired For This 