Greek Life
My friend, Mike the Eyeguy, and his alter-ego have commented today on a certain football game this weekend. While much of the country won't be sitting by with bated breath to read the scores for the Alabama v. Vanderbilt confrontation, this game holds a special place in my heart. Alabama enjoys an 18 game winning streak over my beloved Commodores, but this year Alabama's secondary is pourous while Vandy sports the best wide receiver and best quarterback in the conference. Vandy is as strong as ever, and Alabama is rebuilding. In 2005, we beat Tennessee in Knoxville. In 2006, we beat Georgia in Athens. Alabama should be worried more only if we were playing this game in Tuscaloosa.
To mark this occasion, I republish a post from October 2006, with a revised ending.
Go 'Dores!
Yea, I was born unto a nation with twelve tribes. Among our chosen people in the rich land, an inheritance is imparted from mother to son, from father to daughter, and the hate-blood flows among the feuding tribes. The tribe of my birth is an ancient race, long wielding dominion over the rest in days long past, a tribe of scarlet red descending from its high place, the Capstone. Its lords and lore echo their bawdy songs, giving honor to the yellow bird and unstoppable moon cycles; hark to the past glory and ascend again to the high place! My tribe’s arch enemy resides in tents and barns on the Plain where they mingle the song of the eagle and the mouth of the tiger to nefarious ends. Indeed as iron sharpens iron, so does the Capstone tribe rake against the beguiled Plain tribe.
Yet, I was reared in a foreign land, a rebellious land full of growling dogs. In the shadow of the weary Dog’s lair did I come of age, and its minions befriended me. My forefathers shuddered at my dalliance with the Dog’s adherents and rather would have me keep company with the Aged Soldiers to the north, if any. Even so, the Canine tribe was a defeated people, living in angst beneath the Aged Gentry who once warred against the rest. The Aged Soldiers established themselves in the ancient Grove and oversaw the land of cotton, despite the Dog’s toil and oppression. On the blue moon, the Dog could rise up against the Aged but rarely remained in their lofty presence. The Aged had little regard for the other tribes, and their pride put me off. My affection grew for the Dog tribe, but still I would not forsake the Capstone tribe of my birth. My blood ran scarlet, and I harked to the yellow bird, the crimson flow and the mighty trunked-beast. I worshiped at the Capstone and was pleased.
For a season, I sojourned in the most remote land, among the Pig People. The were the youngest tribe, accepted in our national charity when their old nation crumbled in corruption and despair. The Pig People did not speak our language and are unclean, and despite their fierce howls and nasty teeth, I could not the Pig People love. The live in squalor among the Lizard people and the Swamp tribe, the brutal, uncivilized hoards.
In a season of wandering, far from the Capstone, having visited among the Dog tribe, having feasted in the Aged Grove, having roamed with the Pig People, I received the highest calling of our nation. The Athenian tribe issued to me a writ to encamp on their High Hill under the Ancient Oak, to study among their wise men, to breathe the free and lofty air of erudition and nobility. The Athenian tribe is the least in number among our nation, and its people have no land beyond their High Hill and Ancient Oak. The Athenians call to the high-minded, the principled and honored among the nation to join, learn and govern the rest. With humble exhilaration did I answer the writ of invitation, proceeded through the Rites of Spring and took my place among the Athenians, on the High Hill, beneath the Ancient Oak, to prepare for a life of learning and glory. The Athenians do not often fare well on the field of battle but guide the nation in righteousness, truth and the path of brilliance, not unlike the storied Levites of scripture.
One bright, oppressive day, the tribe of my birth, the Capstone, clad in gleaming armor, did take the field on the High Hill to assault the men of the Ancient Oak, to challenge the scholars in a game of brutality. This conflagration tortured my heart and rent it assunder. Thus, in that moment did I apprehend the truth, a man may not well serve two tribes. A fork appeared in my life-path, and the tribes demanded of me, choose one now, because you cannot bear the weight of duality. The Capstone tribe, the tribe of my birth and forefathers brook no transgression. The Athenian tribe, the tribe of my calling, stood smugly to await my decision; could I forsake the hate-blood for the blessing of fresh air on the High Hill and Ancient Oak? In that moment, I hollered the incantation, “Vandyvandyohhhellyeah!.” Thus, did I renounce the tribe of my birth, and did the Capstone tribe disinherit me. Thus, did the Athenians install me on the High Hill for the length of my years in the shade of the Ancient Oak.
The Athenians adorned me in black and gold, and I set aside the scarlet sash of my boyhood. The writ of invitation was satisfied, and the Sea Baron was pleased.
Alas, having matriculated on the High Hill and fulfilled my studies at the feet of the law givers, the law makers, I descended to the Athenian valleys, to venture into the nation and minister among the tribes. On the first journey through the mountains of Smoke, did a fair lady approach me quietly. She hailed from the Mountain Tribe, a numerous, boisterous, bellicose people, yet the lady inspired a serene, sublime beauty to all whom she met. Her warrior’s spirit rose against injustice, but her compassion poured to those in oppression and chains. She served among a warlike people and loved them yet, even as she disdained their bloodlust. She and I loved one another and pronounced vows among the baptismal waters of the Hill near the River.
She, the Mountain Girl, and I, the Athenian, gathered each other in arms and set forth to minister and multiply among the tribes.
Lo! A cataclysm awaits! On the Third Sabbath Day of the Tenth Month the Capstone tribe rallied its warriors to assault the Mountain tribe. Yes, for this long age, the Mountain tribe and the Capstone wage endless wars. The hate-blood rises deep and fiery over the River and floods men’s souls with brooding and fear. Yonder massed my kinfolk, the tribe of by birth, the proud Capstone column. Nigh to my bosom rested my Mountain Girl who pined for her tribe on the Hill near the River. Betwixt the cacophonic armies I stood, the Athenian, torn in two between the love of family and the love of woman. Star-crossed, I knelt before my mother and father and bid them farewell, for I would not forsake the love of my Mountain Girl and her tribe, with banners raised, the color of the rising sun.
I gird myself with black and gold, incanting the explosive yawp of knowledge and nobility, adorned with the orange sash of my Mountain Girl’s people, to stand among a foreign people, in devotion to my calling and my love. I would bear the loyalty of two tribes. Beneath the Ancient, I learned long-suffering and love and would devote my years to the invitation of the High Hill and the devotion to my Mountain Girl and her people.
On this day, the battle is joined. Behold the Athenians atop their ramparts, flush with hope and strength, never before stronger, never before faster. The foe advances from the Capstone. Do I despair that the people of my youth make war against the Ancient Oak who called me on high? I do not. The Capstone has a celebrated marshall, wooed by lucre and malice, yet he is inconstant and cagey. After trouncing a defenseless opponent, might the Capstone care more about the Pig People and the Other Dogs?
The day of victory is at hand.
Go 'Dores.
To mark this occasion, I republish a post from October 2006, with a revised ending.
Go 'Dores!
Yea, I was born unto a nation with twelve tribes. Among our chosen people in the rich land, an inheritance is imparted from mother to son, from father to daughter, and the hate-blood flows among the feuding tribes. The tribe of my birth is an ancient race, long wielding dominion over the rest in days long past, a tribe of scarlet red descending from its high place, the Capstone. Its lords and lore echo their bawdy songs, giving honor to the yellow bird and unstoppable moon cycles; hark to the past glory and ascend again to the high place! My tribe’s arch enemy resides in tents and barns on the Plain where they mingle the song of the eagle and the mouth of the tiger to nefarious ends. Indeed as iron sharpens iron, so does the Capstone tribe rake against the beguiled Plain tribe.
Yet, I was reared in a foreign land, a rebellious land full of growling dogs. In the shadow of the weary Dog’s lair did I come of age, and its minions befriended me. My forefathers shuddered at my dalliance with the Dog’s adherents and rather would have me keep company with the Aged Soldiers to the north, if any. Even so, the Canine tribe was a defeated people, living in angst beneath the Aged Gentry who once warred against the rest. The Aged Soldiers established themselves in the ancient Grove and oversaw the land of cotton, despite the Dog’s toil and oppression. On the blue moon, the Dog could rise up against the Aged but rarely remained in their lofty presence. The Aged had little regard for the other tribes, and their pride put me off. My affection grew for the Dog tribe, but still I would not forsake the Capstone tribe of my birth. My blood ran scarlet, and I harked to the yellow bird, the crimson flow and the mighty trunked-beast. I worshiped at the Capstone and was pleased.
For a season, I sojourned in the most remote land, among the Pig People. The were the youngest tribe, accepted in our national charity when their old nation crumbled in corruption and despair. The Pig People did not speak our language and are unclean, and despite their fierce howls and nasty teeth, I could not the Pig People love. The live in squalor among the Lizard people and the Swamp tribe, the brutal, uncivilized hoards.
In a season of wandering, far from the Capstone, having visited among the Dog tribe, having feasted in the Aged Grove, having roamed with the Pig People, I received the highest calling of our nation. The Athenian tribe issued to me a writ to encamp on their High Hill under the Ancient Oak, to study among their wise men, to breathe the free and lofty air of erudition and nobility. The Athenian tribe is the least in number among our nation, and its people have no land beyond their High Hill and Ancient Oak. The Athenians call to the high-minded, the principled and honored among the nation to join, learn and govern the rest. With humble exhilaration did I answer the writ of invitation, proceeded through the Rites of Spring and took my place among the Athenians, on the High Hill, beneath the Ancient Oak, to prepare for a life of learning and glory. The Athenians do not often fare well on the field of battle but guide the nation in righteousness, truth and the path of brilliance, not unlike the storied Levites of scripture.
One bright, oppressive day, the tribe of my birth, the Capstone, clad in gleaming armor, did take the field on the High Hill to assault the men of the Ancient Oak, to challenge the scholars in a game of brutality. This conflagration tortured my heart and rent it assunder. Thus, in that moment did I apprehend the truth, a man may not well serve two tribes. A fork appeared in my life-path, and the tribes demanded of me, choose one now, because you cannot bear the weight of duality. The Capstone tribe, the tribe of my birth and forefathers brook no transgression. The Athenian tribe, the tribe of my calling, stood smugly to await my decision; could I forsake the hate-blood for the blessing of fresh air on the High Hill and Ancient Oak? In that moment, I hollered the incantation, “Vandyvandyohhhellyeah!.” Thus, did I renounce the tribe of my birth, and did the Capstone tribe disinherit me. Thus, did the Athenians install me on the High Hill for the length of my years in the shade of the Ancient Oak.
The Athenians adorned me in black and gold, and I set aside the scarlet sash of my boyhood. The writ of invitation was satisfied, and the Sea Baron was pleased.
Alas, having matriculated on the High Hill and fulfilled my studies at the feet of the law givers, the law makers, I descended to the Athenian valleys, to venture into the nation and minister among the tribes. On the first journey through the mountains of Smoke, did a fair lady approach me quietly. She hailed from the Mountain Tribe, a numerous, boisterous, bellicose people, yet the lady inspired a serene, sublime beauty to all whom she met. Her warrior’s spirit rose against injustice, but her compassion poured to those in oppression and chains. She served among a warlike people and loved them yet, even as she disdained their bloodlust. She and I loved one another and pronounced vows among the baptismal waters of the Hill near the River.
She, the Mountain Girl, and I, the Athenian, gathered each other in arms and set forth to minister and multiply among the tribes.
Lo! A cataclysm awaits! On the Third Sabbath Day of the Tenth Month the Capstone tribe rallied its warriors to assault the Mountain tribe. Yes, for this long age, the Mountain tribe and the Capstone wage endless wars. The hate-blood rises deep and fiery over the River and floods men’s souls with brooding and fear. Yonder massed my kinfolk, the tribe of by birth, the proud Capstone column. Nigh to my bosom rested my Mountain Girl who pined for her tribe on the Hill near the River. Betwixt the cacophonic armies I stood, the Athenian, torn in two between the love of family and the love of woman. Star-crossed, I knelt before my mother and father and bid them farewell, for I would not forsake the love of my Mountain Girl and her tribe, with banners raised, the color of the rising sun.
I gird myself with black and gold, incanting the explosive yawp of knowledge and nobility, adorned with the orange sash of my Mountain Girl’s people, to stand among a foreign people, in devotion to my calling and my love. I would bear the loyalty of two tribes. Beneath the Ancient, I learned long-suffering and love and would devote my years to the invitation of the High Hill and the devotion to my Mountain Girl and her people.
On this day, the battle is joined. Behold the Athenians atop their ramparts, flush with hope and strength, never before stronger, never before faster. The foe advances from the Capstone. Do I despair that the people of my youth make war against the Ancient Oak who called me on high? I do not. The Capstone has a celebrated marshall, wooed by lucre and malice, yet he is inconstant and cagey. After trouncing a defenseless opponent, might the Capstone care more about the Pig People and the Other Dogs?
The day of victory is at hand.
Go 'Dores.
posted by JRB at 9:57 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home