Phaeton
All-American
Let me know if my purely subjective piece needs to go someplace else.
It's a soggy day here in Columbus. The leaves that so recently floated down upon our downtrodden front yards have now been sloshed into a goop upon the curb. Soaked "Emergency No Parking" signs grace every tree and pole like sandbags before a hurricane. The city is preparing for the storm of the century.
The students here trudge through the stinging raindrops to class, and not even the fortunate few with umbrellas can crack a smile. However, the blank look on the faces of these weekday lemmings is betrayed by the twinkle in their eyes, and the extra gusto that is present in the leap of the puddle dodgers. We all move about with a singularity, a quiet excitement and unity that reveals our true demeanor. If someone were to gather the hubris to scream "O-H", people would halt for miles to scream back the resounding reply. Nobody yells this, for we are all silently preparing ourselves for what promises to be one of the most intense weekends of our young lives. Sure, we go through the motions of living life. We eat, we breathe, and we work. Nobody can get a proper night of sleep, as if Santa himself were downstairs filling our fridges with beer. Everyone knows that not a single soul can break their mind from the hold of the weekend, for Ohio State plays Michigan on Saturday.
The dams will burst on Thursday with the annual jump into Mirror Lake. For those that have not witnessed it, it is a wonder to behold. The evening begins with a slow march toward the lake. Armed with flip-flops and towels, small groups flock toward a single location as if led by the pied piper of Hamelin. An unholy roar is heard in the distance, growing louder with each step. On the horizon, a shirtless mass of humanity, arms flailing in the air, is chanting songs for the Buckeye Faithful. You jump into the frozen lake, despite knowledge that you have a hefty two mile walk back to your warm shower. This is the beating heart of a Buckeye Nation.
It's hard to believe that it's only a few days away. You've gone to every home game you could possibly attend. You have watched every game twice, regardless of whether you were there or not. You can recite the depth charts better than you can say the alphabet backwards. You have even been watching the games of the Beast from the North in hopes of learning your enemy. You even go so far as to lurk the message boards that don't support your team. You've been studying this football team and their opponents ever since we de-pantsed the Domers in last year's Fiesta Bowl, and it's time for a payoff.
We're ready, Michigan. We who held our tickets despite the promise of thousand-dollar payoffs are ready to will our team to victory. We will be standing shoulder to shoulder in the cold, giving every ounce of our strength. We don't have keys to jingle, nor do we have cowbells and thunder sticks. We're going to pound you with the things handed down to us by God himself; Our Voices, Our Tressel, and Our Troy.
Go Bucks.
It's a soggy day here in Columbus. The leaves that so recently floated down upon our downtrodden front yards have now been sloshed into a goop upon the curb. Soaked "Emergency No Parking" signs grace every tree and pole like sandbags before a hurricane. The city is preparing for the storm of the century.
The students here trudge through the stinging raindrops to class, and not even the fortunate few with umbrellas can crack a smile. However, the blank look on the faces of these weekday lemmings is betrayed by the twinkle in their eyes, and the extra gusto that is present in the leap of the puddle dodgers. We all move about with a singularity, a quiet excitement and unity that reveals our true demeanor. If someone were to gather the hubris to scream "O-H", people would halt for miles to scream back the resounding reply. Nobody yells this, for we are all silently preparing ourselves for what promises to be one of the most intense weekends of our young lives. Sure, we go through the motions of living life. We eat, we breathe, and we work. Nobody can get a proper night of sleep, as if Santa himself were downstairs filling our fridges with beer. Everyone knows that not a single soul can break their mind from the hold of the weekend, for Ohio State plays Michigan on Saturday.
The dams will burst on Thursday with the annual jump into Mirror Lake. For those that have not witnessed it, it is a wonder to behold. The evening begins with a slow march toward the lake. Armed with flip-flops and towels, small groups flock toward a single location as if led by the pied piper of Hamelin. An unholy roar is heard in the distance, growing louder with each step. On the horizon, a shirtless mass of humanity, arms flailing in the air, is chanting songs for the Buckeye Faithful. You jump into the frozen lake, despite knowledge that you have a hefty two mile walk back to your warm shower. This is the beating heart of a Buckeye Nation.
It's hard to believe that it's only a few days away. You've gone to every home game you could possibly attend. You have watched every game twice, regardless of whether you were there or not. You can recite the depth charts better than you can say the alphabet backwards. You have even been watching the games of the Beast from the North in hopes of learning your enemy. You even go so far as to lurk the message boards that don't support your team. You've been studying this football team and their opponents ever since we de-pantsed the Domers in last year's Fiesta Bowl, and it's time for a payoff.
We're ready, Michigan. We who held our tickets despite the promise of thousand-dollar payoffs are ready to will our team to victory. We will be standing shoulder to shoulder in the cold, giving every ounce of our strength. We don't have keys to jingle, nor do we have cowbells and thunder sticks. We're going to pound you with the things handed down to us by God himself; Our Voices, Our Tressel, and Our Troy.
Go Bucks.
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