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  • HuskerFever

    'Twas the night before Cupcake Season



      Twas the night before the Cupcake, when all thro' the Bank
      Not a creature was stirring, not even a Jaysker;
      The nets were hung by the basketball hoop with care,
      In hopes that Coach Miles soon would be there;
      The fans were nestled all snug on their couches,
      While visions of Selection Sunday danced in their heads


      And Papa Gordan in his 'kerchief, and Kidney in his cap,
      Had just twisted our brains for a long message board spat-
      When out on the court there arose such a clatter,
      Miles sprang from the locker room to see what was the matter.
      Away to the bench he flew like a flash,
      Tore open the Gatorade jugs, and threw up the trash.


      The ice rink outside has new fallen snow,
      Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below;
      When, what to Miles' wondering eyes should appear,
      But a MAAC team, and eight players with hats,

      With a little old coach, so lively and quick,
      Miles' knew in a moment it must be an obligatory cupcake loss.
      More rapid than Hatters their hats they came,



    And those Hatters, they shouted, and call'd them by name:
    "Now! Myles, now! Glasford, now! Iyiola and Doyle,
    On! Rivera, on! Goodman, on! Jones and Dennis;
    To the top of the arch! To the baseline of the court!
    Now press away! Press away! Press away all!"


    As the bricks lay there shot after shot,
    The Hatters meet with an obstacle, the Huskers who bought;
    So up to the Bank the shots they flew,
    Nebraska is back with three-pointers a brew:
    And then in a minute, there was a long drought
    The Huskers are known for and they're looking for a spout.


    As Miles drew in his head, more plays to execute,
    Down the court Glynn Watson Jr. came to shoot:
    He was dress'd in sweet kicks, sitting on both his feet,
    And his jersey was a slick alternative uniform Adidas made which was a feat;
    A bundle of baskets were made on his back,
    And he look'd like a baller just running right past:


    His eyes-how they looked for spacing and lanes,
    His moves were slick like a Big Ten All-Conference reign;
    His play-making ability was drawn up by opponents,
    To try to defend him, his team, and its components;
    The top of the rim he held tight when he dunks,
    And the cheers from the arena encircled in chunks.


    Miles had a face of a coach who wanted to win
    Because he knew we paid for this game, and wanted out of the den
    He's improved the roster, the talent, but wins haven't come
    They will, he laugh'd when we questioned him like we had done


    A wink of his eye and a twist of his hand
    He won the media over and gave us assurance there's nothing to dread.
    He spoke not a word, but went straight to Twitter,
    And fill'd all the words; then sent it without bitter,
    And laying his finger aside of his nose
    And giving a nod, up the Big Ten standings he rose.


    He sprung to his feet, to his team gave a whistle,
    We're on our way to go dancing, like the team you've always wanted:
    But I heard him exclaim, ere he walked out of sight-


    Happy cupcake season to all, and to all a good night.

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