Dueling Columns: Crimson Victory - Automatic, Still Is

Oh Eli, last year you fumbled your roast

Sent it over preemptively, we had a sick toast

This year we don’t need the edge

We fully embrace beating you fair and square, we do pledge

That a comeback on the field we will boast

We’re laughing that Toads’s main attraction

Is a former DJ-ing member of the Harvard faction

Won’t see us waiting in the line, it’ll be automatic

Our Pudding alum has us down as VIPs, pretty ecstatic

Meanwhile, your pudding (fingers) alum gets no traction

Some say that you were set up to fail

Ivy League pre-season favorites, your efforts were to no avail

Started from the bottom now we’re here

We’re the real dawgs, our wins are earning us cheers

You can’t even fill your stadium, the architecture school couldn’t make it to scale

Heard Coach Reno’s son was highly scouted

Guess he’s going to South Carolina, what, roster’s getting too crowded?

Bold choice leaving the offense to Grooms

We’ll keep it civil, this is a newsroom

But his run for an Offensive player repeat indeed is doubted

Nolan might think he can fire up the dogs with a speech

Like Clinton though, his words will only impeach

A student body that could honestly claim to have never had relations

So many nights working out with friends, getting out your frustrations

Pass protection is the only type you need, nothing else is being breached

Win or loss, either way we come out on top

We know from Miss Abby Lee Miller that second is quite the flop

The first to lose, Elis know all too well

We have a class on T-Swift, so we can tell

That when you sing “I remember it all too well,” you mean your Harvard rejection letter, nonstop

For us, karma is the new guy on the scene coming straight home to me

We know our rookie Craig’s a stud, that you can see

Take Taylor’s advice: breathe in, breathe through

#10 is a 10, so take this loss as a cue

That from Grooms’s greasy flow, Harvard girls will flee

The Lake Wiley native slumps in the pocket, wily he’s not

While we’ve got our own man Wiley Beckett, his disco record was just bought

Your judicial alumnus’s personal record is not automatic

But his most famous line is from a remix which is most climactic

“I like beer,” thousands cheer; singing to the words of the hot shot

Jack Bosman has a fun name, our writer was inspired

But his kicks leave a lot to be desired

Sailed one wide against Princeton, sent your team down to the wire

Yips we can smell, where there’s smoke there’s an inevitable (mis)fire

When he steps up to kick, we’ll all take cover, his squib will be duly admired

Dead fish on the ice still smells better than New Haven

At the rink, or The Bowl, how the mighty have fallen, these losses in our memory are graven

Lose to Cornell? That was only you it seems; on risky ground you now tread

May you have good luck sparring against the terrifyingly dominant O-line we have bred,

Its “eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s” as Poe the Bostonian wrote in “The Raven”