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The Red River Rivalry: A Reprise


Mikey4

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Here are my notes from the game. Enjoy!

 

Gather 'round, rev'lers, and hear of the story, 
How the purest of Saints rose to honor and glory, 
How the worst of the cursed were reduced to debris, 
In the struggle of ages--the Rivalry.

God's Country is where our battle takes place,
But our story begins in the land of disgrace. 
We start in a land with an armpit's aroma,
That dark, cursed wasteland they call Oklahoma.

* * * * *

Wasteland
The crescent moon glowed in the oil-black sky, 
Over hot, barren country, devoid of all life 
except for the demon, and his secret freak, 
And his steed who would lead him to battle the weak. 

The crimson-cloaked demon mounted his steed, 
Grabbing the bag hiding his secret freak, 
To start his long journey, through darkness ahead, 
southward he'd travel, to the River of Red. 

He dug in his heels and took reins in his hands,  
His steed started trotting, across the dry sands. 
Then picking up speed, the animal ran. 
It galloped all night through the Devil's wasteland. 

God's Land 
As they made their approach to the River between, 
His land, forsaken, and land pure and clean, 
He sheltered his eyes and shrieked out a scream, 
As his body was pierced by golden sunbeams. 

The sun stretched his arms 'cross the Country below,
Just south of the point where the Red River flowed, 
Land lush and fertile, for it had been blessed, 
By God when he formed it and named it Texas. 

A shiver went up through the crimson-cloaked hag, 
The sight of God's Country below made him gag. 
He needed some comfort, a snack for reprieve, 
So out of his bag, three dicks he retrieved. 

He crossed the great River, flowing and clear, 
On the same bridge he'd used, year after year,
In making this journey, since times of old 
To meet his opponent in the Cotton Bowl. 

Barn 
He saw the old farmhouse, his one chance for rest, 
So he made for the barn, to prepare for his test. 
In the barn was a litter, so soft and so fluffy, 
He almost tripped over the farmer's new puppies. 

He lifted his boot o'er the animals' heads, 
When a flash of burnt orange filled him with dread. 
He spun 'round and saw what had caused him to startle.  
It was Jesus--he walked in through a burnt orange portal. 

"Those puppies are mine!," screamed God-as-a-man, 
"For the mother dog birthed them right here on my Land!"
"I hate you," the demon declared with a groan, 
"And I can just claim all this land as my own!" 

The demon descended his boot with great force. 
He crushed all the puppies and had no remorse.
Then he broke from the barn and mounted his steed,
And raced to that fabled Arena with speed. 

Arena
The Arena was guarded by the giant called Tex, 
The rev'lers admired him, stretching their necks.
The food was aplenty, folks ate with a fervor, 
He scoffed, for he craved only In and Out Burger. 

The crowds had assembled 'round a booth called Game Day, 
To learn how the nation's top teams were to play. 
Four Prophets stood by to give their predictions,
As patrons held signs with varied depictions. 

He froze when he saw it; it stood there, alone. 
One sign bore the work of the King's scribe, Thujone. 
Thujone is part jester, part scribe and part saint. 
He writes the King's histories in his MS Paint. 

His pictures have power. They tell what is true,
And the demon was scared about what Thujone knew. 
The demon's new freak appeared on this sign, 
The weapon he held in the bag at his side. 

Weapon 
He walked on the field, and felt a great fright, 
As he came toe-to-toe with Sir Mensa the Knight.
Mensa was flanked by Eleven and Nine,
He dreaded the things they could do when combined. 

Fear built inside him, anxiety grew,
He knew he should run from this fight and go stew. 
He turned to retreat but could not get through.
In his path stood Sir Vic and his cholas, two. 

He spun back around to face the Lord's chosen.
He shivered with fear; his arms and legs frozen.
But he'd brought a surprise, his clandestine weapon,
And now was the time for that freak to step in. 

The moment had come, so he reached in his baggie, 
And took out the creature he'd stolen from aggy. 
Part cat and part weasel, this mutant was slight,
Like a cat, he could run; like a weasel, he'd fight.

But the creature's top talent was not speed nor strength, 
This creature was able to suck at great length. 
He'd suck up opponents, he'd suck up their horses,
He'd suck up entire enemy forces.

They cast a gold coin to determine positions,
The rules that would govern this competition. 
Both sides took their places, fear in their hearts, 
For now it was time for the battle to start.

Defense 
Soon the creature inhaled, and just kept inhaling.
Towards him, Eleven and Nine came a flailing. 
He almost devoured the offensive roster, 
But at last they were saved by Sir B.J. Foster.

Foster sacked the foul creature, he got in his licks,
But the freak got back up, measuring one foot and six. 
He let the ball go with a torpedo throw,
But it fell in the hands of the Knight, Brandon Jones. 

The freak tried to run, but what could he do? 
For he came face to face with Omenihu. 
Sir Charles, he sacked him, crashing him down.
The freak hung his head low with a whimpering sound. 

The freak dropped the ball, letting it fall, 
And the Jesus-Knight, Breckyn, was there for it all. 
The ball was scooped up by Sir Breckyn the Knight,
His flowing blonde locks gave the creature a fright.

The demon was reckless, thoughtless, and cruel, 
As he came up to swipe the Jesus-Knight's jewels.
But Jesus-Knight broke the hag's hand in a vice,
For that move the demon paid a high price. 

Offense
Breckyn and all of his defensive crew, 
Eventually let that quick creature slip through.
The creature roared loudly, his minions did rant, 
"BOOMER SOONER!," they said in their terrible chant. 

Mensa got to this point with the skill of the greats,
Eleven and Nine and Sir LJH.
Keaontay had helped them, so had the line,
But somehow the battle had come to a tie. 

Now it was time for the Knight named Eleven,
To practice the art of his chosen profession. 
He marched to the field and shouted his orders, 
He knew what to do to move the match forward. 

He ran like a ram, his receivers he hit. 
Striking Devin and Tre and Beck in their mitts. 
Then he said to the demon, "our weapon is sicker." 
And onto the field strolled Dicker the Kicker. 

Weapon
The legends, they speak of the great Kicking Tree.
How Hunter slayed Huskers, and Tucker, aggy. 
Now it's his turn. Does he have what it takes? 
Does the new kicker's name belong with the greats? 

He strolled to his spot with a confident stride.
"Is this all you need me to do for the prize?"
Then he cocked back his leg and let the ball fly,
And that ball drilled the demon right through the eyes. 

BOOM! 

* * * * *

When the kids tell their stories, the children will say, 
That the Kicking Tree grew a new branch on that day. 
That branch cannot die, and it cannot break. 
For the Kick of All Kicks, Sir Dicker did make. 

Aftermath
Defeated, the freak-cat sat on his haunches, 
Twitching his whiskers, nearly unconscious. 
I NEVER LOSE!!! He cursed and he swore. 
But the truth was emblazoned on the scoreboard. 

He stood to his paws, pretentious and rude,
He flaunted for all, his prick attitude. 
He pranced past Eleven, not saying a word,
"Take the loss, pussy!," was the last thing he heard. 

He scampered away from that confrontation,
Running back to the safety of his Sooner Nation.
Wishing this memory would fade to a haze.
So he could move on and play for the A's.

* * * * *

That night at the Seat of God's holy Land, 
Stood a tall Tower, alone in the sand.
The Tower declared how they'd conquered their challenge.
For the Tower burned brightly in brilliant burnt orange.

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