*****, it's T-Raww, blood on my paws
Big ***** chick back a ***** to the wall
Never get involved, ****** every bar
**** so illegal, get a green card
Different cars, different from y'all
I work hard, you work at the mall
Pass a ***** off like my ***** John Wall
**** her in the dark, gimme the light, Sean Paul
Yeah, ***** I do this ****
Colder than a ******* penguin lip
And my ***** ***** fire gotta extinguish ****, Lebron James and ****
Got heat super freak Rick James ya *****, leave a stain and ****
On ya couch in ya house like brotherman
Hanging like Mr. Cooper hand, ****.

[Chorus]
Posing, Heisman [x3]

[Honey *******]
Yo, got a Asian ***** on my left side
Another Asian *****, right, right side
They might send your *** off to the next side
***** hold your **** breath 'cause you might die
Got a group of bad ******* and I feel good
Oh you're hungry? Too bad 'cause my meal's good
And I shouldn't beat a broad, yet I still would
But I don't tryna be bad 'cause the deals good
Yeah, now look I got the urge to feed them off some doggy ****
Type of stuff to make them feel like alcohol and potent ****
Hold the *****, just sold the *****, ******* pay me is what I told the *****
You can't walk or talk, I own you *****
Please don't make me hot, I'm the coldest ***** (agh)

[Chorus]
Posing, Heisman [x3]

[Tyga]
Well, running from the cop, boy born to ****
Hand me the lock, bring it to your front door, doorbell
Knock knock, who there? Houdini disappear
Got green, John Deere. More green, Paul Pierce
Amazing win shot, you my son, I adopt, dop dop
Pacman, that's for opening your mouth
Bust a nut, kick her out, lit a cigarette now
Put the cigarette down, I'm the ****, loose bowels
Wow, Laughing, did I say that out loud?
***** getting busy like I work downtown
On to the next if she don't **** right now (right now)
Harder than a pipe, can't pipe down
What you ****** talking about?
Man I'm what your ***** is talking about
Two months then an album out
Careless world drop, pewm, then I'm out.

[Chorus]
Posing, Heisman [x3]

[Honey *******]
If a ***** **** around, I might go off
My advice is you better get down to go
You came to shop at the mall, but I bought the stores
I got a box of jewels, I call it *** of gold
Call the cops to go, as my pockets grow
Get the chains and the rings and the watches, bro
And I boxed a ****, I just boxed a ***
You tryna pass me *****? It ain't possible, nah
Cool as ****, I suggest you dress for the weather *****
Is forever ****, whenever *****
What's a ***** to a queen? Whatever *****!
I crop a kid, it's a hot to ****
Its some Gucci, Louis, fendi, Prada ****
Tell them *******, you ain't not a *****
Find me in the club where my partners is
(Schwagg, B-*****!)

[Chorus]
Posing, Heisman [x3]
(***** I'm The ****)

Verse 1 (Honey *******):
***** I'm Honey *******, bout to bring em some pain.
All my haters like a choir, they all singin my name.
Ain't got a heart for a broad that's the rule of the game.
Now you a fool if you aim.
Ill put a tool to ya brain.
I'm bout to get it and spend it.
If I said it, I meant it.
#FuckYoFeelings. ******* weapon.
Act like a ***** Ill raise your blessings YOW
You are not familiar with me.
If you come makin a move, ***** yo visitor me

Verse 2 (Tyga):
Its that drop top phenom chop.
All gold rolly top.
**** yo fans, **** a cop.
All my ******* Betty bop.
Betty boop, ******* out.
Gangsta **** punch you in yo mouth.
***** I don't know what you talkin bout.
Flossin now you need dentist now Augh AUGH
**** around and Rodney King the beat.
Bout that war like Vietnamese.
Feelin froggy ***** leap.
I'm that *****, you obsolete.
I'm in that game you know P-T
R-E-C My Swa A-G. Only way you copying me ***** Augh

Verse 3 (Honey *******):
Asian ***** on another degree.
Give me some space, move out my place, ***** I'm just tryna breath.
Now if you, see me around your way don't holler at me.
I just can't waste all my time cuz I be eatin these beats.
Listen you rats here just a captain me.
You ain't me homie you just act like me.
Well you should watch yo actions please.
Cuz there might be some casualties Augh augh
They about to witness it. Last Kings but I'm still on my Queen **** SCHWAG

Verse 4 (Tyga):
Aim aim at yo membrane just for sayin
I'm insane and your girl give me neck, Hang man.
I ain't playin, I never did lie.
Lay around and open yo thighs
****** gon pop like fish gonna fry
Nggas talkin greasy like the sh*t got slide WOW
High 5. Clap yo face. Change yo disguise, I work hard for the money. Money don't ever come in yo life.
A ******* right. When you lie, everybody wanna be just like.
******* to the middle of yo eyes.
Young young Ty T-Raw need a Heisman Aaaahh

In the stands, down 35-3 with two minutes left in the fourth,
Fred Carson picks at the sticky, white remnants of a Coke bottle's label.
He leans over to me,
"Do you mind if I talk to you again?"
I don't, and haven't since kickoff.

"You know, I played running back on this same field."

"Oh yeah?" I say, allowing the story to commence.

"Started all four years. Rushed 1,000 yards as a freshman."

"Wow."

"It took five guys to bring me down by my senior year."

"That's insane."

"I probably still hold the record for most rush yards,
but I doubt they keep up with things like that."

He takes a sip from his drink. It's half empty.
His hair -- greasy, most likely on its third unwashed day --
parts to the left and clings to his skull.
He's wearing a long sleeve, plaid dress shirt.
The shirt is buttoned to the top.

"Hell, that was back in 1968," slows, "I graduated in 19-68. Jesus."

Fred retired from the post office six years back.
He claims he's never missed a game of Blue Jay football since 1970.
The high school band starts playing in the section next to us --
a misshapen cover of "Louie, Louie".
Fred raises his voice,

"You know, I've been to every football game since 1970."

"Yeah, you mentioned that last week."

"I apologize. Yeah, if it wasn't for that first year of college.
I got a scholarship to play ball at Florida State.
Couldn't be there and here at the same time, you know? Kinda hard."

He runs his big-knuckled right hand along his khaki'd thigh, checking his pocket.
He checks the left thigh -- nothing.
Reaches into his shirt pocket and reveals a lighter.
Then a soft pack of Marlboro Lights emerge.

"You know, I ran the fifty in less than five seconds."

To the dismay of cheerleader moms sitting behind us,
he lights the cigarette.
He stares at the Bic lighter with some NASCAR driver -- number 88 --
I don't recognize.
The cutout of the NASCAR driver's scraggly face
sits atop a navy blue and spiraling purple backdrop.
He starts to scratch at the label on the lighter.
A screech from a clarinet rises above the rest of the band,
Fred grimaces, takes a drag, continues,

"The coach at Florida State said I was the fastest boy he'd ever seen.
He said I was going to go pro. Sure thing, he said. I rushed for nearly
300 yards in the first game my freshman year. After the game,
the coach was like, see boy, I told you. You are going to tear it up
this season."

The NASCAR decal comes completely off. Under that purple and blue label,
Fred uncovers a white lighter.

"Would you look at that. I wouldn't have bought the **** thing if
I knew it was a white lighter. That's bad luck, you know. Hendrix and
that--uh--Janis Joplin lady both died with a white lighter in their hand.
Bad luck. A white lighter is bad luck."

"What happened at Florida State?" I ask.

"Well, we were playing Notre Dame during the second game that season.
Down by five with three seconds left on the clock.
We were on our own thirty, and the coach of Florida State was like,
run the hail mary play. But in the huddle, I look the quarterback
square in the eyes, and I say to him, captain -- he was team captain --
I say, captain, I'm hungry for that ball. He knew I could do it.
He took the snap, the receivers rushed down field, and I bolted toward
that line of scrimmage, took the handoff and I was gone, baby."

The crowd begins to cheer as the Blue Jay quarterback throws a long pass
to a wide open receiver. Fred freezes mid-story.
The cheer blurs into a silence, as each person in the bleachers
watches the ball ascend.

For the first time all night, the band lowers their instruments from their lips.
Just a ball floating.
The buzz from the stadium lights becomes audible.
One person gasps.
Then like dominoes the stadium follows suit.

The high arc of the ball betrays the distance,
and the pigskin plummets sharply.

"Interception!" the announcer cries through the speakers.

"That's a **** shame. I thought he was going to have it.
What were we talking about?" Fred asks as he drops his
finished cigarette into the nearly empty, naked Coke bottle.

"You were talking about Florida State. You were down five and--"

"That's right. So, I break up the middle. I dust that noseguard.
I stiff arm a linebacker. I looked like a Heisman trophy in motion.
I travel 69-yards down the field. I'm slowing down at the endzone,
thinking nobody is around, and sure enough -- plow -- the cornerback
dives right into my leg. I broke all kinds of bones and tore all kinds
of muscles. The doctor told me, he'd never seen anything like it."

The band plays the fight song as the clock winds down and the Blue Jays lose.
I try to disappear in the sea of blue and silver exiting t-shirts,
but Fred slows me down,

"It sure was good talking to you. I'll have to tell you more about Florida State
next week. Be sure to sit by me."

"I will," I say as the band director, Mr. Morton, steps in front of me.

"Hey, Fred," Mr. Morton says. He looks at me, then back to Fred.
He's trying to decide whether or not I'm of relation.
"Son, I went to Seminole State Junior College with Fred here
when we got out of high school."

"Really? Did you guys play football together?" I ask with innocent inquisitiveness.

"No, we weren't really into that. Though, we were at all the games.
We were in band together. Until Fred's wild streak got the best of him,"
Mr. Morton laughs, "am I right, Fred?"



The fight song came to a close.
With a lowered head, Fred walked into the silver, blue crowd
with a plaid dress shirt buttoned to the top.

Star soldier with the rocket arm,
you bleed silver, gold,
and product placement.

Smile big for the camera,
the media will sell its soul
for a new bankable face.

Party hardy, Heisman candidate,
******* your semi-steady's
sorority sister,
then ask to see her again
sometime after the **** kit.

It's quite alright,
so long as you have talent
beyond this hemisphere.
Why even the fatherland, ESPN,
will gladly call you "son."

Golden haired and handsome, Joe seemed to have it all.
He’d won a PAC 8 championship just that previous Fall.
Surely the Heisman would be his; another prize to win.
He started strongly, at least at first, but would falter at the end.

Joe Roth had Melanoma and it ravaged skin and bone,
It was a lonely battle, the hardest fight he’d known.
Joe Roth was a gamer who would strap his helmet on
and go out on the gridiron though his strength was nearly gone.
He knew that he would not grow old, or play the game for pay.
In this final autumn of his life he merely wished to play.

. Despite fatigue and nausea he still made every start,
Until his game clock ran out on an overburdened heart.
There’s a moment when the cheering stops, when a man feels most alone;
blind-sided by a tackle while checking down against the zone.

When game clock seconds tick away and the outcomes not in doubt
Joe stood tall in the pocket even when it was a rout.
He gave the game the best he had, then it was his  time to go.
He was an All- American, and no ordinary Joe

Concussed by the "Bus."
No Heisman post CT scan.
J E L L O.

there in the dim lights of the moon half-covered in dark clouds
on the banks of the Pea river about where it meets with the
Choctawhatchee in the down south eastern parts
of 'Bama around a turn into the sandy banks
we stood
glowing
it was half past four
in the morn'
my truck was stuck in the mud

and we tried to figure how we'd explain to your
ex-football linebacker dad
runner-up to the Heisman
before he tore his Achille's tendon
why we had not made your curfew
and I was thinking I'd just kiss you
then move hastily off to Mississippi
when you
said hey
I love you

and it all changed I became
Superman
revved that Chevy
like it was a four-wheel drive and we spun
out of the soup
mud flying everywhere and
when I got you home


your dad saw all the muck and thought
we had been lying
out playing all night and beat me like
a red headed step-child
and you were trying
to hold him back and I was reeling
innocently

when he believed me a year later and invited me
to a game of football on the lawn
I just had to pretend
my Achilles
tendon was broke

when we made love finally two years later
I didn't need any tendons

Part 1:
He looked out the third floor window of his office, wistfully, at the last of the students going home for the summer.  The exodus had started Friday and today, Monday, was the last day they had to vacate their rooms.

Father Frank Fitzsimmons O.S.A. (Order of Saint Augustine) was the building prefect for Alumni Hall. It was the university's oldest building and dated back to the Civil War. It had gone through a myriad of uses over the years and was now the largest male dorm on campus.

Father Frank had a heavy heart as he watched the last of the students load up their cars and SUV’s heading either home or to one of the many beach communities along the Jersey Shore.  Villanova University catered to an upper crust student body, and many had summer homes sitting and waiting for their yearly sojourn.

Watching the students leave was not what was weighing on Father Frank’s heart.  For the past six months he had been having a crisis of faith, and his daily interaction with students had been a welcome distraction from the dark empty questions his conscience held.

As the building prefect, Father Frank had an office on the third floor.  His job was to mentor and counsel the more than 300 students who occupied the building from September until May.  He lived in the Augustinian Monastery directly across from Alumni Hall, and it was a short 30 second walk both to and from work.

Normally, Father Frank would have closed down his office and spent the summer in the monastery with the older retired priests.  Many of whom he had had as teachers and professors when he had attended Villanova just 15 years before. This summer would be different …

Because of construction and renovations, his apartment was needed to house several of the older priests who had been suffering with debilitating health problems.  He had been asked to stay in Alumni Hall for the summer, until the work was completed, and the students were back for the Fall semester.

Father Frank knew the first students to come back would be the football team when they arrived for summer camp in mid-August. That would be a full 3 months from now. He was the only young (under 40) priest on campus, and it would be a long and lonely 3 months dealing with the solitude and the weight of his uncertainty.

He thought about moving a cot into his office but decided to stay in the now empty dorm room next door.  Sitting on its twin bed brought back memories of when he had lived in this very building just one floor below.

Frank had been a defensive back on the 1962 Villanova ‘Wildcat’ Football Team that had faced Oregon State in the Liberty Bowl.  Oregon State had the country’s best player and Heisman Trophy winner, Terry Baker, at quarterback.  The game ended with a score of 6-0 resulting from a 99-yard run for a touchdown by Baker.  It would be the only score of the game.  Frank had had one shot at tackling Baker but had missed his chance when Baker juked around him at the 25-yard line.  Although 15 years had passed, the wound was still fresh every time Frank walked by the stadium and the memories came flashing back.

Frank’s favorite coach had been one of the assistants, **** Moore, who everyone called Pappy.  Pappy had a habit of saying just the right thing, at the appropriate time, to keep players motivated and moving in the right direction. Pappy was an Augustinian Brother and had been on campus since being a Chaplain’s Assistant during World War 2.

He also had a physical move that accentuated his instruction. Pappy would lower his shoulder and tackle a player lifting him up while shaking him back and forth. He did this until the player repeated what he had just told him.  It became a badge of honor, on the Wildcat Football Team, to count the number of times Pappy had lifted you off the ground and force fed you the truth.

Part 2:
It took less than an hour to get his new room set up with his personal effects from the monastery, and Frank decided to go for a run … anything to try and escape the questions that became worse during periods of inactivity.

As anyone who has lived alone will tell you, after an extended period of time, the world takes on a new normalcy and the days repeat in quiet monotony.  Frank still took his meals at the monastery but because of the age difference, he didn’t have much in common with the older priests to spark interesting conversations.  Mostly, they reminded him of the almost great victory over Oregon State, and how if they were to play the game again Villanova would surely win.  This was the LAST thing Frank wanted to hear.

Father Frank continued to say the Sunday morning 10:30 a.m. Mass at the campus chapel connected to the monastery.  Other than that, the days dragged on.

It was now Friday, July 5th, and Frank had gone to bed early.
The tower clock, outside his window, showed 2:00 a.m. when he was awakened by a noise on the other side of his door.  After clearing the sleep from his eyes, he decided to take a look.  He knew the building was locked, and no maintenance worker would be working this late.

He walked the long distance to the other end of the hall using his hand, sliding along the left side of the corridor wall, as a guide.  When he came to its end, he turned around and headed back.

To Cut Costs, All Of The Auxiliary Lights Had Been Turned Off For The Summer

Halfway down the hall, he heard the noise again and he stopped.  This time, it seemed to be coming from his room. He started to walk the rest of the way but was suddenly confronted by someone or something in front of him blocking his passage.  As he started to struggle, he was lifted off the ground and shaken back and forth.  Conflicting and confusing memories came rushing back, and he went into full denial as to what might be happening.  Before he could get one word out of his mouth, he was back on his feet and whoever or whatever had assaulted him was gone.

He took a hurried step toward his room and immediately slipped on something wet on the dark floor. Still rattled from what had happened, he rushed back, locked the door, and got into bed. Had it been a bad dream or was it possibly something more … something at face value he couldn’t reconcile?

Frank woke up early still wondering if it had all been a bad dream.  He walked back down the hall and could see what he had slipped on the night before.  A small puddle of water was lying in the middle of the floor.  Looking up, Frank saw nothing dripping from the ceiling.  He went back to his room, got a towel, and wiped up the spill before going to the monastery for breakfast.

Upon returning from breakfast, he was stunned at what he saw.  The puddle had reappeared in exactly the same spot as before. Again, Frank wiped it up and went on with his day, but the small puddle continued to reappear.

Frank decided to take a new tack….

Before going to bed on the second night, he wiped up the puddle with his towel and covered the spot with a stool to confirm it was coming from a leak somewhere above. The next morning the stool was still in place, and had not moved, but the water had reappeared again directly underneath it on the floor.

Every time Frank had wiped up the spot, he noticed that something was happening inside of himself. The water that was cleaned up was washing the conflict and doubt out of his spirit, and he felt a lightness that he hadn’t experienced since his ordination almost 10 years ago.

The water continued to reappear all summer until the first student athletes arrived back on campus.  That first day, there was knock on Frank’s office door and a freshman football player was standing there with a stool in his hand.  “Father Frank, does this stool belong to you?  It was sitting in the middle of the hall and this small bottle was sitting under it.”  “Yes, it’s mine, thanks for returning it.  I used it as a marker in the dark hall this summer.”

Frank looked at the tiny cut glass bottle which was whole in its design … it had no cork or ***** off top.  It was solid all the way around.

Fifty years later, that small bottle sat on Frank’s night table in the monastery across the way. He was now one of the older priests having spent his life in service to the university and students he loved.  Since that Summer Of Doubt, so many years ago, his faith had been as secure and contained as the Holy Water inside the bottle.

Every time he looked at it, he made a silent prayer that started with … “Thanks Pappy.’

Kurt Philip Behm: June, 2024