Woody Windham Blog

Gamecocks Poem

I read the first stanza of this poem on my radio show last week and told the audience that I didn’t want to do the whole thing because it was kind of mean spirited and I am not one of those kind of Gamecock fans.  I pull for USC but I enjoy seeing Clemson do well.  My audience wouldn’t leave me alone until I did the whole thing on the air and when I did I received hundreds of emails asking for a copy.  That’s why I’m posting it on my website.  Enjoy.  Woody.

 
Twas the month before Christmas and all through the town, Not a Tiger fan was stirring, not one could be found. 

Christmas was coming, but no one could care, The stench of defeat still hung in the air. 

Dabo was tossing, sleepless in bed, While visions of Gamecocks still danced in his head. 

He was wearing his cap, which read, “ACC!” And trying to forget that SEC Defeat! 

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, He sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. 

He stood at the window, his lower lip quivered, The lesson was hard the Ol’ Ball Coach delivered. 

The moon on the breast of the Carolina grass, showed Gamecock footprints from the game that had passed. 

When, what did he see while adjusting his hat, But a great Cock-a-boose, pulled by ragged, orange cats. 

With a cool-handed driver, he frightfully stood, Dabo knew in a moment, it must be Norwood. 

The cats were so tired, they pulled with a strain, So Eric beat them and shouted, and called them by name. 

Now, Spiller! Now, Ford! Now, Ellington and Parker! On, Daquan! On, Palmer! On Austin, and Harper! 

We’ll see Williams Brice again ‘fore I’m done, And run the Wild Cock one more time, just for fun. 

As the footballs within the wild “Cock and Fire” fly, Dumbfounding the DB’s, as they watch them go by, 

Around and around, the poor Tigers flew, With a Cock-a-boose full of Gamecocks, and Stephen Garcia too! 

Then the Gamecocks stood guard o’er the Tigers out back, As they painted poor Brad Scott’s house garnet and black. 

As Dabo drew in his hand, and was turning around, The Ghost of Steve Spurrier was seen floating down. 
He was dressed all in fur from his toes to his chin, He had made a new coat from some old Tiger skins. 

Several more Tigers, he had flung on his back, Jacoby, Richard Jackson and Chad Deihl, in fact. 

His eyes – how they twinkled! His countenance – how merry! He was thinking of the team his young Gamecocks had buried. 

Then suddenly above the Great Spectre appeared, The names of all the coaches he had whipped through the years. 

The victory torches still smoldered beneath, And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. 

But Dabo stood blank-faced, his stomach still queasy, He knew that next year was not going to be easy. 

He was sad and disgruntled; a mere shell of a man, And Steve laughed when he saw him, and thought of HIS FANS. 

They stood face to face, Dabo wanted to run. He could hear the theme song from 2001. 

The Ghost spoke not a word, but went straight to his plan, Leaving Stephon Gilmore bobbleheads for all those at hand. 

And raising his visor in salute as on cue, He said, “See ya next year!”, and he faded from view. 

Norwood sprang to the Cock-a-boose, to the cats said, “Let’s go!”, The Tigers all cried saying, “No, Eric, please no!” 

But I heard him exclaim, when they couldn’t be seen, “Merry Christmas to all, 34 – 17!”

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