Book of Seniors, Chapter 12, verses 1-40

Submitted by Blazefire on July 16th, 2009 at 10:10 AM
A reading from the holy scripture:

Book of Seniors, Chapter 12, verses 1-40

    And so it came to be that in the second season of the pain of the 17th Age of Leaders, the Emperor had reached the end of his reign. For eleven weeks, he would ride to battle with his army as he had done many seasons past. He summoned his new field general before him, and laid down for him the commands he would issue to his troops.

   "Your predecessors have failed me. See now that I have scattered them to the winds, and struck them with maladies to make clear your path. Recognize my power, and rejoice."

    His general knelt before him, throwing out his arms and calling out the glories and wonder of his Emperor, praising his powers and thanking his divine mercy. He called upon the god Yhohst, begging a host of virgins to please his Emperor. And again the Emperor spake unto him.

    "See now my temple in the City of the Trees is nearly rebuilt. Its towers stand all the more mighty. Its glass gleams to reflect my spirit back onto the gathered faithful. Its shape shall summon praises from all corners and focus them, until the very crust of the earth is split."

    His general shouted more praises, and swore to fell a thousand Buckeye Trees in his name.

    "And you, anointed one, you shall have your portion. The power of the Forcier shall ring out through out the land, and women shall throw themselves at your feet. Babes shall cease their wails and men will tremble, humbled fully as you pass. Because I have ordained it."

    After this, the Emperor and his general sat, and consulted with the grand battle planner and all his aides de camp.

    As before, the season of pain began, and the temple was defended. The City of Trees shook and was alive. The battle planner was tireless. The general was fearless. The enemies were helpless.

    When enemies threatened to command the battlefield, the Emperor himself took up his armor and met his foes, and threw them down 50 and 60 marks. When his weapon would make contact with the insturment of battle, the sound would split rocks and crack steel. Battlefields became awash with maize and blue. None could stand in the way of the Emperor and his holy warriors.

    And at last, it was the twelfth week. The land had been purged of unbelievers. The new general had proved his worth, and his Emperor's faith was shown right as always. All had fallen as the Emperor had forseen, and he knew his troops ready.

    On the horizon appeared a single figure, small of stature, but broad, robed in scarlet and gray, he carried large golden trumpet, which he put to his lips. When he blew, the sound was not sweet, but a sickening, maddening tune. Drawn by its heinous melody, a slavering, chattering horde of vile, half dead creatures crested the horizon, lead by giants dressed for battle. And at their head, King Tre-salleh.

    The Emperor looked to his general, who began assembling his holy warriors to defend the temple once more, and stilled him with a gentle touch.

    Summoning all his power, the Emperor picked himself off the ground and floated as a whisp of smoke towards the approaching horde. Storms raged in his eyes, and flame belched from his nostrils as he drew each breath. His hair burned from his head, and steam poured from his body.

    As he neared the gathered enemy, he opened his mouth as if to speak. Out of his mouth came the blast of every trumpet of heaven's great marching band, and the voice of every single believer, in the most powerful and perfect instant of the Emperor's fight song. All around, the trees screamed, and the rocks bled, and the lakes boiled, and the birds fell from the sky. Flowers bloomed and withered in an instant, and the entire world knew the truth.

    And even as their blood vaporized inside them, the opposing army stood defiant. The Emperor's head tilted back, and out from his mouth erupted a massive cyclone unlike the world had ever seen. The vortex of divine and holy power grew exponentially, lighting and streaks of fire encircling it, until finally it had enveloped the enemy, and the Emperor. The enemies shrieks of pain could not

    And the sky cleared. The storms departed. The cyclone tracked up the sky and disappeared into space, the Emperor's second dominion. And the sun warmed, and a maize sripe appeared across the blue sky. The Emperor's voice was heard comming down from the heaven's, sounding sated, with the mild din of tortured enemies wailing somewhere in the background.

    "Whenever you see this sign, remember that I am with you. May your punts always be lethal."

So ends the Book of Seniors.



July 16th, 2009 at 10:20 AM ^

Yeh, though I walk through the Valley of Happy, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me; thy Rod and his staff, they comfort me. Thou settest the table in the red zone of my enemies. Thou anointeth my freshman QB with video, my end, he floweth down the line. Surely Graham and Martin shall follow thy QB all the plays of his life; and I shall dwell in the House of Big for ever."


July 16th, 2009 at 11:49 AM ^

Coach Barwis is my shepherd,
I shall not slack;
He maketh me lie down and bench-press my weight 50 times.
He leadeth me away from Ho-Hos and French fries;
He restoreth my lean body mass.
He leadeth me to squats and Olympic lifts and sprints
for quickness and speed's sake.

Yea, even though I walk through the valley
of the shadow of Ohio Stadium,
I fear no Buckeye,
for Barwis is screaming in my ear;
Coach Rod and his staff, they work us like dogs.

Surely toughness and desire shall follow me
all the days of my career;
and we shall kick ass in the Big House
of Michigan for four years, or five if I redshirt.


July 16th, 2009 at 1:13 PM ^

Our Head Coach, who art in Schembechler Hall,
Rodriguez be thy name.
Thy transition come, M will have won,
In Ann Arbor as well as Columbus.
Give us this day those wins we covet,
And forgive us our boos over losses,
As we forgive those we those who fumble and overthrow.
And lead us not into the shadow of Ohio
But deliver us from Tressel
For thine is the Big House, the Forcier, and the Victors,
Now and until BCS come.


Beware the Otter

July 17th, 2009 at 11:22 AM ^

Hail RichRod full of grace.
Our hopes are with thee.
Blessed art thou among coaches
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb,
the Spread
Holy RichRod, Father of the Read Option
Pray for us fans,
now and at the hour of
3:30 September 5th.


July 17th, 2009 at 2:39 PM ^

Baruch atah, Adonai, Elo'coach, melech ha'Big Ten Conference, b'rei p'respectability, ha'shelosh-tish'ah.1


1. Translation: Blessed art thou, oh Lord, our coach, ruler of the Big Ten Conference, who brings forth respectability from 3 and 9 2
2. That was a Jewish prayer3
3. That means drink.