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To the school outside of Boston
With all of those fake accents so rotten
Almost as bad as that tiny stadium
You’re certainly going to miss the podium
It makes me think of your precious Final Clubs
Filled with countless Crimson scrubs
Ruining any hope of a fun time
Almost like having fun for you all would be a crime
But enough about all that — let’s get to the field
Where all your weaknesses will be revealed
You can’t throw the ball
Sure, you can run, but throw? Not at all
Oh, boy, will our defense have a day
From the second we begin to play
I can already see your QB on his back
Having no way to deal with our attack
But not to worry, we’ll show you the way
When Grooms wins the day
Throwing the ball deep to Tipton
I can already see it being written
I know this will be the first Game for your Claudine Gay
But all she’ll want to do is look away
Peter Salovey will be the one to party
Our Elis are just far too hearty
But at the end of the The Game
We’ll really all be same
Except of course for the fact
That nothing can distract
That all you’ll be thinking about on Sunday
Is that you have school on Monday!
Spencer King | spencer.king@yale.edu
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Dueling Columns: Crimson Victory - Automatic, Still Is
