To the saints in Black and Gold,
Lo, we have together suffered and rejoiced greatly these many years in support of the footballers of Beloved University. May we not forget those many years we wandered in the wilderness, "2-10, 2-10, 2-10," the song that we sang. When behold, from the land of Santa Claus, a Quarterback. He would be called Cutler, and from his arm would issue forth flame and hope. Six victories he would not see, but five. Forget not his glorious reign, and the joyful days of losing a little less than henceforth known. Forget not Earl Bennett, whose arms outstretched to gather in the nation and the football. Whose prolificacy gave narrative to sports commentator and SEC bloggers thirsting for content about footballers from Beloved University. Forget not how, in a superfluity of haughtiness, Earl Bennett shimmied his shoulder such as the wind alters the lilly of the field. Fifteen yards, justice declared.
And lo, Bobby Johnson appeared draped in white hair with a punter in his wings. A punter whose value was beyond measure. A bowl game victory rested upon his foot, and a season of winning was known throughout the land.
Verily, I say unto thee, a cloud gathered over West End. "2-10," "2-10, "2-10" was once more the song that we sang. The White Knight of Steve Martin likeness left our land, and we beheld one of great humor and effective ornithological insemination analogy. He was like the grass of the field, here today and gone tomorrow.
How long? How long? The people cried. Who will lead these people out of the wilderness? "2-10, 2-10, 2-10," we cannot bear any longer.
When, lo! From Mary Land descended a Savior. As a stranger he mounted the podium and declared, "Brand New Vanderbilt!" No longer shall we sing, "2-10," for a new day has dawned, a light has shown on West End, and the nations of the Southeastern lands were sore afraid. Franklin, he was called. A new temple shall be built, he proclaimed, and people from all across the land shall gather there to witness the victory of the footballers from Beloved University. And it was so. Nashville, Memphis, and Birmingham; Gainesville, Oxford, and Knoxville; all beheld the glory of the star with the V in its grip.
At this same time a cloud gathered in a distant land. From State College a storm approached, and lifted in its mighty winds Franklin - and with him, many who had promised to join the footballers of Beloved University. There was weeping and gnashing of teeth on Natchez Trace, in Broadway and West End, and all across the land.
"Fear not!" A voice rang out in the wilderness. The Vice Chancellor is among us. His name is David and he will not be defeated. Leaders from among the nation shall line up to meet him. And from among them, one shall emerge, worthy to lead Beloved University once more.
So, my friends, I say fear not. Fear not the official's flag. Fear not the orange pants. Fear not the phantom pass interference. Fear not the blatant non-call. Fear not the song of old, "2-10, 2-10, 2-10," for those days are passed. Our future lies ahead, and it is paved in black and gold. Rejoice, then, and place your anchors down, and look to the heavens, for from them descends our Vice Chancellor, riding with a coach in his wings.