The Celebration Of The Kiffin

Is everybody in?
Is everybody in?
Is everybody in?

Training is about to begin.

LACE UP!

We must be better than we were.
Has this team stopped?

The ball was golden brown, glazed and inflated.
They weren't afraid to touch it.
The field was hot, still, airless.
And Al was beside me, old,
He's, no; young.
His dark wavy hair.
The white soft skin.
Now, run to the huddle in the endzone.
Look!
Knapp's coming in here.
I can't wait for this slow century of off-season to end.
I let my cheek slide down.
The cool smooth clipboard.
Feel the good cold stinging hits.
The loud clatter, helmets, 2 minute drills...

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Once I had a little scheme.
I liked to use, at USC.
I think you'll like, the scheme I know.
I mean the scheme, called West Coast O.

Now you should try, this little scheme.
Just close your eyes, feel the seams.
Forget the rush, forget the blitz.
And you'll defeat, their hands and wits.

This little scheme, is fun to do.
Just time your throw, no way to lose.
And I'm right here, I'm going to.
Release the run, we're breaking thru...

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Burrow back into the brain.
Back past the wristband of names.
I find the plays to move the chains.

And the chains move steadily up the field.
And over the heads of our opposition.
And in the labyrinth of plays in the playbook.
I unleash screens, bootlegs and counters.
Upon the nervous opposition defensive co-ordinators.
Their indecision abounding.
Toss sweeps, options, play-action fakes.

Each down repeats a mold.
Defenses rolled, newspaper-stands say in the morning.

Al's now sleeping, the haters silent.
Their mirrors vacant.
Dust builds inside their heads.
And questions trip up their feet.
The AFC West sprayed with semen.
Lies in our mercy.

Wait!

There's been a slaughter here.

Don't stop to doubt or look around.
Their gloves and pads are on the ground.
They're getting out of town.
They're going on the run.
And we're the one they wished didn't come.

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Not to Air Coryell.
Not to Run 'n Gun.
Nothing left to do.
But run, run, run.
Let's run.

Split backs on the first.
I-Form on the second.
Bunch set on the third.
First downs are a breeze.
C'mon LJ run with glee.
Let's run.

The O-Line is tough inside the redzone.
Quick are the wideouts in the spaces there.
Strong are the hands of our Tight Ends flared.
And they wont know which receiver will get inside.

Our guards and tackles push hard at the snap.
Their linebackers react like frozen caps.
C'mon JR we're going very far.
To the NFC to meet their best.

We're outlaws from across the Golden Gate.
The NFL's in love with the hate.
Whose umpires want to throw flags at our feet.
Well done, Cable, we're almost clean.

Run Run Run.
Rhodes Rhodes Rhodes.
Soon Soon Soon.
Bush Bush Bush.
He will get you soon.
Soon.
Soon.
Soon.

I am the Lane Kiffin,
I can do anything.