To do our college loss; and if to win,
The fewer fans, the greater share of glory.
Rod's will! I pray thee, wish not one fan more.
By Bo, I am not covetous for rank,
Nor care I who doth rise upon our loss;
It yearns me not if men my colors wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet glory,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, brothers, wish not one more fan.
Rod's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one fan more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Wolverines, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this season,
Let him depart; his transfer shall be made,
And fare to Lansing put into his purse;
We would not lose in that fan's company
That fears his fellowship to lose with us.
This day is call'd the feast of Rich Rod.
He that survives this seasons, and comes home whole,
Will stand taller when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Rich Rod.
He that shall live this year, and see old age,
Will yearly on the season opener toast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Opening Day.'
Then will he strip his spirit and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I earned on Saturdays.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What Wolverines did that day. Then shall their names,
Familiar in our mouth as household words-
Tate the King, Hemingway and Matthews,
Koger and Shoelace, Graham and Roh-
Be in their righteous moves freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good fan teach his son;
And opening day shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we Wolverine fans;
For he to-day that cheers this team with me
Shall be my brother; be he formerly a state fan,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And Wolverines everywhere who missed the game
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their fanhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That cheered with us upon Rich Rods day.