Quoth the Defense, "Nevermore"

Apropos it is to be playing the Missouri Tigers on Halloween. The recent Buff-Mizzou matchups have been ghastly and ghoulish. Fact: in the past 8 quarters of play against CU, Missouri has scored 113 points. One hundred and thirteen.

It's been a shit show, our defense has been helpless against the mighty Tiger offensive juggernaut. We were the French, they were the Germans. We were Grenada, they were the Marines. We were the Generals, they were the Globe Trotters. We were Charlie Brown, they were Lucy. Hopeless...

But this year is different. Gary Pinkel's Mizzou no longer has the magical Chase Daniel and the uncoverable Jeremy Macklin. In their place are the gimpy Blaine Gabbert and the fragile Denario Alexander. Furthermore, the 2009 CU defense has evolved into a snarling, nasty, mean, stubborn, swashbuckling bunch. They have been the buzz saw into which great offenses such as Texas and Kansas have unwittingly run. Buff fans in the know realize that, even through our recent losses, the D has been simply superb.

And this Saturday, that nasty Buff Defense will come to avenge the atrocities of the past two years. They will wage war upon the Tiger offense in a chilling and horrific manner. And Halloween 2009 will be a nightmare for Mizzou.

In the spirit of Halloween, I've borrowed and adapted the single greatest piece of terrifying literature of all time, "The Raven" from the brilliant Edgar Allan Poe. Enjoy.

The Defense (by Edgar Buffalover Poe)

Once upon a midday dreary, Pinkel pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of offensive lore--
While he nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As he came a gently rapping, rapping at the red-zone door.
"'T'will be a touchdown," he muttered, "tapping at the red-zone door--
Only this and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly he remembered last year in the bleak November,
And each drive he did engender wrought its way to endzone flannel.
Eagerly he wished the morrow;--vainly he had sought to borrow
From his heart surcease of sorrow--sorrow for the lost Daniel--
For the rare and radiant prince whom the angels name Daniel--
Gone forever just like my spaniel.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of his memory's curtain
Thrilled him--filled him with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of his heart, he stood repeating
"'Tis the time to be entreating entrance at the redzone door--
Naturally I'll be entreating entrance at the redzone door;
This it is and nothing more."

Presently his soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said he, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so now I'll come a tapping, tapping at the redzone door,
And now a pass to score against you"--here he opened wide the door--
Black shirts there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long he stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to chance embrace;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered words, "Prince Chase?"
This he whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Replace!"--
Merely this and nothing more.

Downward then he flung the playbook, when, with many a scowl and gray look,
In there rushed a stately 'Backer of like saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he,
But, with mien of lord or lady, struck upon Blaine Gabbert's shore--
Lept upon the fleeing QB, just there on Blaine Gabbert's shore--
Sacked then flattened, and nothing more.

Then the 'backer quite beguiling stood above him snarling, smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance he wore,
"Though my crest be red and woolly, I," he said, "art your feared sacker,
Ghastly grim and redhead 'backer blitzing from the blind side shore--
Creamed us in the years past, truly, upon this team you'd score and score!"
Then quoth the 'backer, "Nevermore."

Then the Pinkel, standing lonely on the sideline, spat and moaned he
That one word, as if its soul in that one word he did outpour
Nothing farther need be uttered; the 'backer had his QB buttered--
Till he scarcely more than muttered: "Other friends have flown before--
On the next play we shall score, as my Hopes have flown before."
Said the Defense "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said he, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore--
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never--nevermore.'"

But the Defense still beguiling knocked his sad soul into smiling,
Straight he runs a QB draw now, pass fake then Blaine steps toward the fore;
One step forward and then quick sinking, bruised and dazed he lays there blinking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous D of yore--
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, mean, and ominous D of yore
Meant in shouting "Nevermore."

There Blaine sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the Safety whose fiery eyes now burned into his bosom's core;
This and more he sat divining, with his head in pain reclining
On green turf with chalky lining above him DBs gloated o'er,
But the endzones distant lining with the ball he'd not get o'er
There he'll go, ah, nevermore!