Twas the night before The Game, and all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even my spouse.
The M flag was hung by the front door with care
With hopes that a victory soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
Dreaming visions of Denard and his dreads.
My wife in her pj’s and I in my M cap
Had just settled down for a November night nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang to the window to see what was the matter.
Did I have a sickness? Some sort of bad fever?
It looked just like Greg Robinson’s beaver!
Behind this rodent arose such a sight,
A winged helmeted vision in the night.
More rapid than eagles the players they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now Denard, now Daryl, now Junior and Vincent,
On Martin, on Roh, keep stunting and blitzin’,
On Kovacs, on Kenny, on Roundtree and Tate,
Tomorrow we knock off Ohio State!
The players charged right off with a shout,
And the beaver followed them to the south,
And I heard him exclaim, and I swear this is true,
“We’ll beat those Bucks. Let’s Go Blue!”
This all just happened.