Once more unto the Big House, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our Wolverine dead.
In the offseason there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of the band blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the wolverine;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with MINOR RAGE;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest Wolverine.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of tradition!
Fathers that, like so many Schembechlers,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And removed their pads for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to win. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in Michigan, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your tuition; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Rodriguez, Michigan, and Saint Schembechler!'
(Sorry I didn't keep the iambic pentameter, I'm a math major, not english.)
So yesterday, I received an email flyer from UM School of Music, Theatre, and Dance regarding their production of Shakespeare's Macbeth. I'm scrolling through it and I see credits for a photo that's included.... and a familiar name jumps off the screen. Hey! Is that OUR David Moosman? Checked the photo again... and I do believe it is. Cool!
See the flyer here (Moosman standing in the rear), and if you're in Ann Arbor next weekend, go see some Shakespeare. The performing arts at UM are absolutely top-notch. I live in A2, so I'm going!
According to the program (PDF file), Moosman plays the part of Tommey, a soldier.
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.