Not mine, but good -> ---------------------------------- GEAUX TIGERS...... You know, in these dark days of the early 21st century, we are faced with innumerable problems. Terrorism. Wars. Crime. Gubernatorial recalls. Dogs and cats living together. Pandemonium. Alabama fans. But underneath all that depressing muckety-muck, there is a gold lining. No.... a purple and gold lining. And as we embark upon that glorious phase of the moon we call fooball season, let me just share with you a few things that are important to me. What I believe. {Men's chorus humming "Hey Fightin' Tigers" in background...} I believe in Louisiana State University. The place where a boy became a man. The greatest 12 years of my life. I believe in LSU football. The purple and gold. The rabid fans. The pageantry. The sight of the team running through the north goalposts. The Golden Girls. The sound of the Golden Band. The smell of bourbon. And occasionally vomit. I believe in the most beautiful place on the face of the earth. Stately oaks. Broad magnolias. The Quad. The parade ground. The Indian Mounds. The black posts. I believe in the history. Halloween night. The Rag. The Earthquake Game. 62-0. The night Britney was spotted in the pressbox. I believe in tailgating. I mean real tailgating. Red meat cooked over an open flame. Cold beer. (Except for after 3:00...that's when I switch to bourbon.) Headlights when the weather gets nippy. I believe that anyone who loves the Tigers has the OBLIGATION to express that love with outright unbridled, fanatical, blood-curdling screams which cause those around you to worry about your sanity. The kind where you have no voice left by the third quarter. I believe those who do not yell meaning most of the people between the 20's who didn't want the price of their tickets to go up) should have their tickets confiscated. I believe that Mike the Tiger is the baddest mascot in the land. I believe that our live Bengal Tiger mascot (cared for by the LSU School of Veterinary Medicine) could make lunch out of that freaking steer from Texas in about 15 minutes, and then have that stupid looking Colorado buffalo for breakfast. I believe that any fan of an opposing team who enters our stadium should be treated with respect. But they should be heckled mercilessly when their team starts to lose. If their team does well and they heckle me, I believe I have the right to give them the finger, or punch their dates. I believe that there is no finer moment in Tiger Stadium than when there is a fight, or people think there is a fight, and 30,000 people all turn in the same direction looking for said fight, and some hapless Barney Fife security guy walks up the stairs looking for the instigator, but has to walk back to his post empty-handed. I believe in the guy across the aisle from me, who keeps yelling at people to stop touching him. I believe that beach balls should not be allowed in Tiger Stadium. I once almost fell out of the damned upper deck jumping after one of those things. I believe that tears come to my eyes when the Golden Band takes the field and the drum major salutes the students. I believe in sultry autumn nights, pretty girls, smuggled-in alcohol,Chinese Bandits, Pre-Game, hot dogs, cheerleaders on top of the tiger cage, Two Bits, Hot Boudin, and the ghost of Sid Crocker. In summary, I believe in Saturday night in Death Valley
He lost me here. That pretty much the exact opposite of what I believe I believe that any fan of an opposing team who enters our stadium should be treated with respect. But they should be heckled mercilessly when their team starts to lose. If their team does well and they heckle me, I believe I have the right to give them the finger, or punch their dates. I believe that there is no finer moment in Tiger Stadium than when there is a fight, or people think there is a fight, and 30,000 people all turn in the same direction looking for said fight, and some hapless Barney Fife security guy walks up the stairs looking for the instigator, but has to walk back to his post empty-handed. I believe in the guy across the aisle from me, who keeps yelling at people to stop touching him
Nah, he's just another Senor Puppet ... it's the Bourbon an ode to Buckskin Bill & Sid Crockett (Senor Puppet) Remember ... you're never dressed until you wear a
