#football
Tammy wynette
never sang about this
Daddy ***** another woman
while I burn American flags in the kitchen
there's blood on the tv
we have football for supper
the sad thing about being a woman
is turning out just like your mother
killed by men long before we die
I may be many things
but ill never be a wife
16h ago
Jun 3, 2026 at 8:30 PM UTC
Shout out to holte enders in the sky
At villa, we believe in Unai
Shout out to Dean who got us back up
May 26 we won the Europa League cup
No silverware since 96
30 years of feeling like ****
Relegation, managers coming and going
But Birmingham is ours - sun, rain or snowing
Great wall of Argentina doing his thing
Rodgers in the pockets, pulling every string
Watkins coming back with fire in his belly
A great season from our little old Emi
Where do I begin with John McGinn
Him being injured was a massive sin
But him and Youri came back with a fight
Showed us how to play under the lights
One who stood out was Matty Cash
Grabbing the ball and making a dash
In a week we beat Liverpool and City
The football we played was rather pretty
Shout out to the players who got less time
We are one team, and they all did just fine
Massive credit goes to our main man Konsa
Betano better believe they're a lucky sponsor
People may say we aren't in the top six
But personally, I think those people are ******
Finishing fourth, champions league here we come
Spurs may as well sign my nan and my mum
I have this feeling there's more to give
Aston villa gives me a purpose to live
We may lose at times and lose our mind
But when it really matters, we really grind
Emery, thank you for bringing back hope
After we found ourselves down a slippery slope
He's a master of football and he is our own
Villa park is a place where you can go alone
And make all the pals, our fans are the best
It's a shame that we have to wait now and rest
But Watkins, Konsa and Rodgers have chance
Bring it home for England - the final dance
A season of greatness, to remember forever
Birmingham is ours, whatever the weather
I love this club and I always will
Even when we lost to Palace 3 nil
So let the celebrations continue on
Let's hope next season, no one will be gone
Except maybe Bailey, bless his soul
Though he did get that Europa league goal
End there I must, my heart filled with pride.
It's been a long journey, but one hell of a ride!
May 26
May 26, 2026 at 2:17 PM UTC
The field was loud
before the match even began.
Friends shouting.
Family somewhere in the distance.
Too many faces.
Too many voices
melting into one long noise
inside my head.
The sky looked pale,
like an old memory
trying not to disappear.
I remember running.
Not gracefully.
Not like heroes do.
Just running
because something inside me
still refused to stop moving.
The ball came fast.
I almost lost it.
For one second
everything felt familiar again—
that small panic
when life arrives at your feet
and everyone is watching
to see what you’ll do with it.
Then suddenly
I saw him.
Wayne Rooney
wearing that old Manchester United shirt
like time had never touched him.
No grand entrance.
Just his back in front of me
for a split second inside chaos.
And instinct took over.
I threw the ball against him,
hard enough to return to me,
like I was borrowing momentum
from an older version of football,
an older version of myself.
The ball came back alive.
One touch.
A pass through bodies.
Then a goal.
Everyone exploded.
But strangely,
the loudest thing in the dream
was not the crowd.
It was the feeling afterward.
That somewhere deep inside me,
beneath all the confusion,
beneath all the people I’ve lost,
the roads I’ve wandered,
the versions of myself I no longer recognize—
there is still a boy
who believes the game
can change in one second.
May 15
May 15, 2026 at 1:11 AM UTC
Blue shirts on the field so bright
And Everton play with all their might
And fans clapping all through the night
And a cheering sound all around and
Hoping for goals on our precious ground
Up and down they run and chase
A determined look on every face
And we chant your names and stay loyal
Through thick and thin and they stand as one Everton AFC and proud and
Until the final whistle's done
The players are strong a loyal crew
And the fans all love you and
Supporting Everton AFC through and through and
Victory's sweet and defeat is very sore
But Everton AFC we'll be back wanting more.
Feb 19
Feb 19, 2026 at 4:21 AM UTC
Wake, **** shower
Dressed, brekkie, teeth
Trainers on, ticket in trouser pocket
Couple tenners in the wallet
Rung the pals
Eamonn's in a hour?
Suits me.
Lukewarm pint - like pish
I need a pish
Stinking toilets; urinals a pig's trough
Those yellow foam pellets
Wrinkled and reeking
I'd rather *** myself in retrospect
Back to the table I go
And another pint...
**** I can hardly read my watch
Scan the ticket/Didn't work/What?
Doing it the wrong way
*****
Do it right this time
Past the turnstile and into the belly
Of the beast
Allez, allez, allez!
Semi-pro players, dribbling like babies
And rolling about like them too
Woah: the kids in the stands these days
What happened to the proper casuals, ay?
I think it's time for a pie
Maybe a Bovril?
Second half/Head's spinning
Some boy in the lavvy, gave me -
A - line of... **** knows.
Head's sppiinnnningggg.
What a game by the way
OFFFFFTTTT - Paulson scores a peach!
I could kiss his ***** right now
Some man.
The headache tomorrow's gonna be a killer
Should've went home after the match
**** that
Party time: top of the league, we deserve it
Old codgers, young boys alike
Cheering with euphoria
All the way back to town.
Jan 28
Jan 28, 2026 at 4:27 AM UTC
Palestine football team
Are ready to run and fight
Black shirts and white shirts too
Trying hard to break on through
The crowd is loud a happy roar
As the ball flies to settle the score
A kick a pass a speedy race
Hoping to win in this special place
Oh what a goal the crowd shout
With hearts so proud and Palestine win
A football story forever to be told.
Dec 2, 2025
Dec 2, 2025 at 3:01 PM UTC
‘Tis autumn
And the blood of God
Pools in root that sleeps
Amidst worm and toadstool
Vain woman
Autumn swirls her air
Leaf plucked from trees
Of Saint Anthony’s Fire
And they scream from the bleachers
Every first down
Nov 14, 2025
Nov 14, 2025 at 5:30 AM UTC
V is for victory the valor of the day
Fight on mighty Huskers
No matter what the scoreboard has to say
Blue collar is in our DNA
Blue blood all the way
Dear old Nebraska
Let victory lead the way but in the face of defeat we always salute a good and fair game
Win or lose we will always be the scarlet and the cream
The mighty Nebraska Cornhuskers
Hail to the team
From dear old Nebraska U
Listen to the stadium ring, everyone sings true,
Where the girls are the fairest
The guys are the squarest Of any land that I love
Fight on mighty Cornhuskers
Fight on to victory
Always together
In all kinds of weather
For our dear old Nebraska U
GO BIG RED!
Dear old Nebraska U
Nov 2, 2025
Nov 2, 2025 at 6:07 PM UTC
To die for the privilege of dying.
To see. To know.
Is intellect truly as undesirable
as it is unprofitable?
Corporate-processed ChatGPT google echo-chamber
endless sycophantic garbage
passed off as culture !
Recalcitrant serendipity.
Reluctant tertiary excoriations.
Smothered under mass-produced idiocy
and sparkly, makeup-coated saccharine falsehood.
Paltry verisimilitude — unequivocally vacillating and infantilized.
My failure?
YOUR failure !!!!
And the idiocy ever ending doesn’t end it.
The corporations never can stop course, its just s the Cola wars and cigarette health denial but sneakier they killed “cool” and replaced it with algorithms that tell you what kind of non binary outsider you’re ' allowed to be ". Swipe right.
Vacuous. Inane. Presupposed.
Shallow ' Barney" destiny.
**** in, **** out. ( they wouldn't know the difference )
No freedom.
No remorse.
Not even a semblance of empathy.
Stranger danger, stranger danger !
So far from seeing or acknowledging
the chosen sludge I’m forced to endure.
K-pop.
Disney daytime TV.
Social media.
TikTok.
Mental **** and neglect disguised as entertainment....
How is this even possible
let alone successfully loved?
“Get thee behind me, Satan.” lol ( Satan ... as if)
TWEENS ! , I rebuke you.
( You forsake me,
and I care not. ) Reddit mediators = hate farm trolls
I have bowel movements both deeper and more satisfying
than what you love and get tattoos of.
One Direction. bletch *** fml !
Beiber ******** Cringe.
Vomitous rage and Jersy shore sloven std sadness.
Standards: dead and buried.
The slippery slope of a hellscape future
of only more — and even worse. BET, MTV
Why, God?
Why?
And how?
Were we secretly defeated by Korea? Do da doot da do
Did twelve-year-olds suddenly become a target demographic
earning powerhouse ? ????
They CAN'T make or sell anything resembling real poetry,
so they killed poetry. Thanks Hallmark...
Can’t put a price on awe,
so they replaced it with G-rated plastic Tay tay “content.”
It’s all been flattened
into one long, unblinking, androgynous dental-implant smile
with teeth so white
they could signal alien aircraft.
Sinclair Media fantasies
drilled into existence,
and infinitely repackaged. Marvel disney starwars part 228 who cares...
The commodification
of seven-minute generational Sesame Street attention
slowly eroded
to near-constant **** in one form or another.
Idiot generations so plastic,
so V-chipped,
so "clean " and shallow,
so self-centered in their mommies’ collection plate safe space
they can’t even know
they’re tipper Gore mediocre at best.
Group projects. Groupthink. The death of the individual. They wouldn't even know what's worth fighting for or why. Just label it bullying take your prescription zombification and move on.
Can I still pay someone
for a backroom lobotomy? Please ...
Oct 15, 2025
Oct 15, 2025 at 4:25 AM UTC
I want to set the record straight, to put this thing to bed.
This thing of saying soccer, just remove it from your head.
The sport is known as football to all that love the game.
So please don’t call it soccer, or any other name.
And whilst we’re on this subject, those boots upon your feet.
Have studs stuck on the bottom, what’s this nonsense about cleats?
When no one wins it’s called a draw, it’s not a tie you know.
When no one scores we call it nil, so please don’t say zero.
We play the game upon a pitch, cows graze in a field.
So in some words you understand, please stop, please quit, please yield!
Sep 21, 2025
Sep 21, 2025 at 9:27 AM UTC
‘Tis autumn
And the blood of God
Pools in root that sleeps
Amidst worm and toadstool
Vain woman
Autumn swirls her air
Leaf plucked from trees
Of Saint Anthony’s Fire
And they scream from the bleachers
Every first down
Sep 19, 2025
Sep 19, 2025 at 9:07 AM UTC
🎥 SPORTS BALL: THE MADNESS, THE MONEY
An ESPN Original Documentary (That ESPN Would Never Air)
In a world where nothing matters except touchdowns, money, and unchecked, repressed daddy-issue aggression, one league reigns supreme:
THE NFL
(National Feelings League)
Now with no helmet-to-helmet contact!
Born from the ancient, time-honored tradition of jungle warfare—kicking your enemy’s severed head through a loop (which, honestly, still makes more sense than half their current rules)—this sport has changed very little, aside from 4,000 penalties per game and the occasional pastel commercial for ***** pills.
The Holy Grail:
The Gold-Slathered Hunk of Plastic
Shaped like something you’d only see at a German dungeon *** party, this trophy somehow inspires grown-ass man-children to pay millions to lawyers, all for the chance to take the giant gold ******* symbol home and **** it on a throne made of endangered bald eagles.
Rituals and Rites:
Every repetitive, altogether meaningless match kicks off with the mandatory pre-game ritual:
Helicopter flyovers
More ass-touching than a scoutmaster at summer camp (it’s called “team bonding,” apparently)
Prancing, jumping, and chest-thumping
The Scandals:
But the National Feelings League isn’t without its scandals. In fact, their most profitable season ever followed the notorious incident simply known as:
“The Outbreak of **** ****** Run Amok Again.”
Sales of commemorative **** cream skyrocketed. Grade school absentee rates soared.
The Stadium Deals:
Where things get really ******
Cities lured into coughing up their last nickel with promises like:
******* CRACK ***** BINGO – 5¢ Wednesdays
(Featuring ex-Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders)
Taxpayers and their great-great-grandchildren will be paying for that mistake… twice.
The Crimes:
When players get busted for crimes ranging from ****** assault to running illegal animal fighting rings, they always cry the same defense:
“I was here first, ************* They built this whole ********** around me. These ain’t my drugs.”
Everyone nods respectfully and immediately lets them off.
The Latest Locker Room Scourge:
Whispers grow about the latest banned substance tearing through $387 billion locker rooms:
Raccoon Steroids — Naturally Sourced.
Side effects include:
Sudden ****
DUI
Out-of-control gambling
Running/funding a gang
Gun running
Why They Play (In Their Own Words):
“I just love the money, know what I’m saying? And the near-God status, and to be able to bang all the people I want, as hard as I want, whenever I want. Know what I’m saying? And no one can tell me what to do because I’m a ******* God now, know what I’m saying? Shut the **** up and get out of the way, whitey. Give me all your money, ******* ******* Oh, and tell your kids to worship me harder. Know what I’m saying?
I deserve all this money and fame and to be a hero because, after all, I got one-tenth of a microgram more testosterone than you did during puberty.”
Slow piano music plays. Fade to black.
The Interview:
The exact moment every sports interview turns into pure brain death.
It’s always some mouth-breathing, concussion-riddled slab of protein farts mumbling through sentences like his neurons are melting mid-syllable, punctuating every third breath with “you know what I’m saying?”
YES, WE KNOW WHAT YOU’RE SAYING. YOU’RE SAYING NOTHING.
And yet, somehow, almost half of America is still hanging on your every word.
“Yeah man, it’s been a grind this season, you know what I’m saying? We just take it day by day, you know what I’m saying? We come out here, we try to play hard, you know what I’m saying? Like we just gotta keep grinding, you know what I’m saying?”
NO. NO, ************
I don’t know what you’re saying because you’re not saying anything. Have you ever once in your life?
And they always act like they’re breaking some deep-ass philosophy, too:
“Man, it’s hot out here… you know what I’m saying? Like, I be sweating. Like for real, sweating. Pads be heavy, yo. That’s just how it be sometimes, you know what I’m saying?”
Holy **** you signed up for a full-contact meat collision sport where the entire job is “get hit and fall down,” but somehow you’re shocked that it involves… sweating? And falling down?
Don’t tell me you’ve been doing it this whole time and it’s just now shocking to you. Don’t tell me you haven’t been watching all those tapes since you were a little kid, *******
And they’re always saying it like it’s some revelation, like they’ve cracked the code of the universe:
“Sometimes, man… you just gotta play the game… you know what I’m saying?”
NO. I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE SAYING.
Because that sentence has zero calories. It’s a microwaved air sandwich wrapped in plastic.
Then they wanna get an attorney and sue the other guy for helmet-to-helmet contact. Like they didn’t know what they were signing up for.
Oh wait, these giant dudes is trying to tackle me. Oh **** man.
Jul 9, 2025
Jul 9, 2025 at 3:23 AM UTC
Another season has passed
I’ve avoided relegation yet again
but I’m nowhere near Champions League.
One day I’ll cross into the box
and nobody will be there.
Sep 2, 2025
Sep 2, 2025 at 12:39 AM UTC
Sunday, the lads are on the pitch
they were ****** the night before
the other side look just as bad
not sure any are fit to score
The whistles blown, the ball is kicked
three players chase concentration on their faces
The keepers are leaning on goalposts
and seventeen are tying their laces
Number nine is running at goal
He must score, it's in the bag
the ball soars past the goalie
and hits the corner flag
By the half time wistle
there was one red card and four yellow
players were crawling off the pitch
the supporters were less than mellow
The full time score was a one all draw
the Ref blew for full time
the players headed for the bar
Twenty one pints and a lager and lime
Match clebrations went on for hours
though neither side had won
next Sunday they would play again
only to draw again, one, one
Jul 6, 2025
Jul 6, 2025 at 5:08 PM UTC
Hill Dickinson?
What the f*ck's that?
Salah, Van ****
Alexander Arnold.
Those are the names of Liverpool.
May 17, 2025
May 17, 2025 at 4:22 PM UTC
You’d sit on the couch, eyes locked on the screen, yelling at the players like they could hear your screams
And I’d sit beside you, waiting in vain, for the warmth in your touch, for you to say my name
But the whistle would blow, and your voice would rise, louder than love, sharper than lies
Still, when the TV turned dark, you’d turn around, pull me close, and call me your star
I dressed the way you wanted, tight skirts and lace, hoping I’d see admiration on your face
You told me I looked like a dream come alive, but only when I matched the ones on your phone at night
Scrolling through bodies I could never be, whispering names that were never me
And I stood there, silent, as you held me close, wondering if I was just another ghost
Was I just a shadow playing your game? A pawn on the board with no real name?
Or was I something more before you walked away? Just a memory you left to fade?
90 minutes, that’s all I was, a moment of fire that turned into dust
A game you played then left behind, another match, another night
And I still hear the echoes, still feel the pain, like a stadium screaming your name
90 minutes, that’s all we were, and when the clock ran out, you chose to disappear
) You used to pull me in, say I was your queen, but only when the world wasn’t in between
When the match was over, when the night was still, I was the trophy you held with a fleeting thrill
But when morning came and the world resumed, I faded like shadows in a crowded room
And I should have known, I should have seen, love isn’t love when it’s kept behind screens
Was I just a play, just another game? A temporary high that you’d soon replace?
Like a penalty shot, like a final score, did you ever love me, or was I just decor?
And when you screamed at the ref, when you cursed at the field, was that the only way you knew how to feel?
Was I just another season you left behind? A name on a jersey you’d never rewind?
90 minutes, that’s all I was, a moment of fire that turned into dust
A game you played then left behind, another match, another night
And I still hear the echoes, still feel the pain, like a stadium screaming your name
90 minutes, that’s all we were, and when the clock ran out, you chose to disappear
Now I walk past the fields, past the neon lights, and I see you there, lost in another fight
Another game, another crowd, another girl waiting to figure you out
And I want to warn her, I want to say, love isn’t love when it fades away
But she’ll learn like I did, when the final score’s in sight, love never lasts past 90 minutes of time
Apr 2, 2025
Apr 2, 2025 at 9:13 AM UTC
if you know how to listen…see below
https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/1971/11/27/game-plan
Feb 9, 2025
Feb 9, 2025 at 7:43 AM UTC
Show a little finesse, place a bet.
You’re just in time for the game, get some skin, the fix is in.
What’s more American than cashing in?
The real winners do, and now that could be you.
With suckers out there waiting, scamming is as easy as creating
an NFT, bitcoin, an online bet or a romance baiting.
You’ll be a witness, as the wise guys step in, for the NFL it’s a win-win
You get the excitement you need and the real playas get the proceeds.
Come on, Mr slick ricky, you know you’ve got to be bold to win gold
winners double-down, they never fold—the thrill never gets old.
The winners will add your measly bucks to their ***
Let's admit, all you’ve got, isn’t a lot - it wouldn’t, say, fuel a yacht.
So, step up, place your bets, you’re in the digital front row all the time,
don’t be lame, be part of the game, it’s greasy, ****** organized crime.
.
.
A song for this:
Vicious Games by Yello
The Game of Love (feat. Michelle Branch) [Main/Radio Mix] by Santana*
Feb 8, 2025
Feb 8, 2025 at 9:45 PM UTC
Today I woke up and watched some YouTube.
I got out of bed and brushed my teeth.
I took a shower immediately after.
I took my dog outside and played fetch.
We came back inside and he gnawed on a bone.
I didn’t fancy a bone.
I turned on some college football.
I went and picked up some Wendy’s.
She wasn’t there.
I again watched some football.
I think I will eat some leftovers for dinner.
Oct 5, 2024
Oct 5, 2024 at 7:10 PM UTC
Clad in green and white,
With all unyielding mettle,
Master the gridiron!
Sep 8, 2024
Sep 8, 2024 at 11:40 PM UTC
A football team called Aston Villa and
Their football skills will trill you and
On the pitch they shone
As us fans cheered on
As they scored goal after goal up the Villa.
Jul 27, 2024
Jul 27, 2024 at 8:04 AM UTC
A football game was the call
And I stood tall
A purse full of wishes
Landed in the ditches
Should have trusted my intuitions
On a Trailways bus
Mile after mile
Losing my inhibitions
Nov 25, 2023
Nov 25, 2023 at 10:03 PM UTC
It’s Sunday afternoon and several of us, Leong, Sunny, Anna, Lisa and her new BF Dave (well, he isn’t ‘new,’ he’s 26) and I are watching an NFL football game. The Eagles vs the Jets.
There’s a platter of wings, fries, celery and dips on the low-white table for grazing and everyone’s multitasking while watching the game. Leong, Lisa and I on iPads, Anna, and Dave are on laptops and Sunny has a book.
I’m rooting for the Jets, although they’re the underdogs and given little chance. Dave’s for the Eagles, he believes they’re SuperBowl bound and he may be right.
After every good Jets play, like a first down, or defensive tackle or a score, I start snapping my finger - like the dancing Jet hoodlums in ‘West Side Story’ and sing:
“When you're a Jet,
you’re a Jet all your life
all your kids will be Jets
and even your wife.”
When I did it the first time, Dave chuckled. Lisa patted his arm, saying, “You’ll get used to it.” I’ve only done it twenty or thirty times since then and everyone’s ignoring me.
“I could be a songwriter, you know,” I said, “just give up this life of college drudgery and hang with T-Swift”. No one denied my obvious talent.
A huge Eagles lineman bust through the Jets o-line, throwing QB Zach Wilson to the turf, “Jeez,” Anna said.
“That guy’s not an Eagle,” I protested indignantly, “he’s a condor.” I was hoping for a flag but none were thrown.
“I want some steak”, I announced suddenly, to no one and everybody, switching subjects as quickly as a brain synapse fires.
“Do you know,” I reasoned extemporaneously, “that a diet of nothing but healthy prime-rib or ribeye steak can practically eliminate the chance of coming down with mad-lettuce-disease?”
“Mad-lettuce-disease?” Sunny asked, looking up from her book with a smirk.
“Middle America,” I began, Leong groaned and Lisa rolled her eyes at Dave, who smiled.
“That’s where all our vegetables come from,” I said, “the red states on the electoral maps,” I clarified even further.
“Well, how can we explain simple, decent, hard-working people falling in love with a lying, craven, reality-TV huckster like Trump?” I asked rhetorically, looking around for an answer. When no answer was forthcoming, I supplied it:
“Mad-lettuce-disease!” I proclaimed, “Those people are eating the ‘vegetables’ they grow!” Giving the word ‘vegetables’ the same scorn I might lavish on ‘cigarettes’.
“If we all just stuck to a healthy, all-steak diet, ‘Mad-lettuce-disease’ would fade away and America would be saved.” I concluded, like a lawyer finishing a summation to a jury.
I expected applause, or at least a few “Amens” but there were only a few grunts and maybe a chuckle.
On the screen, the Jets defense broke through the Eagles o-line and quarterback Jalen Hurts, under pressure, threw an interception. I jumped to my feet yelling,“YES!” and begin snapping again:
“When you're a Jet
you’re a Jet all the way
from your first sorry breath
to your last dying day”
I love football, and the Jets won!
Oct 16, 2023
Oct 16, 2023 at 7:48 PM UTC
It was a long bus ride
And the **** plastic sheet seats
Were cracking from abuse and freeze
We all kept warm with conversations
And secrets
And scandals in the back row
The era of shame
My own propaganda
Selling me on the idea
That I should carry everyone's.
Sourness
Sins
Shame
That bus was wretched
With the stench
Of frozen sweat
And regret
Despite it all
I could find any single one of you
And we'd exchange
Untouchable moments
Memories of the heart
Strung along that tattered pavement
Here's mine
It was in your eyes
That I saw myself shine
For across that opaque pane
I witnessed your thought
"this guy is interesting"
You and your curly raven rings
Asking about my fixations
Changed the course
Of who I see
when I close my eyes
I've never seen you since that summer
I've never sat behind you again
Can't even recall the name
Can't remember if we won the game
But you're a warm tea I get to sip
When it comes across my mind
No loose ends
No ***** stains
Just the sun breaking the squall
And the summer of ****** football
Sep 19, 2023
Sep 19, 2023 at 1:37 AM UTC
Are you a football fan?
Are you into BIG TIME college football, where my
home town, Georgia Bulldogs are defending, two-time
national champions? Their season began last week
or maybe you’re an NFL fan (they start playing this week).
Ivy league college football starts next week and if you're
not excited about it, maybe you don’t understand it.
Before games there are parties with pizza and chicken wings.
Do NOT go to a frat house on a game day - just don’t.
If you’re going to throw a college football game
you’ll need two teams of players in safety uniforms
and at least one football (that’s what they fight over).
You need a crowd - two crowds really - and a stadium
where everyone could, in theory, sit. There should be
flags, banners, hats and jerseys in riotous team colors.
You’ll need two marching bands and school mascots.
A bulldog will do (Yale), or if you can’t afford that, you could
dress someone up as a huge-headed pilgrim (Harvard).
Of course, as with any big sporting event you’ll need skimpily
dressed girls to toss in the air and assorted food and drink to sell.
There will be lots and lots of cars, and police and ambulances
standing by in case it’s all too much or someone gets hurt.
Cheerleaders are there to whip the crowd into a vocal frenzy,
soon everyone’s yelling things like “DE-fense,” “push em back,”
“Harvard ***** and “No, really, Harvard *****
The ideal game should include a bitter rivalry like Yale vs Harvard.
While everyone knows Yale is better academically, there’s a small
chance that Harvard could win the game - which makes it scary.
We won last year and we’ll play them again this year, in November.
Anyway, whatever flavor of football you like:
It’s football season people!
Sep 8, 2023
Sep 8, 2023 at 3:00 PM UTC