Three plays into yesterday's ritual disemboweling of the Demon Deacons, you felt the wheels beginning to move.
You could hear the "Yeah, but..." arguments dissolve in the realization that this is how things are SUPPOSED to be, not just could be.
You realized that these young men are having the time of their lives ... and maybe, just maybe, you should join them.
Get on board, little children. It's a lot more fun riding than trying to catch a speeding train. And I firmly believe that this train will not be slowing down, much less stopping.
Not in Syracuse.
Not in College Park.
Certainly not in a rat hole like Columbia.
The faithful stand where we've always stood in my belief that better days are coming for the Sons of Clemson, that's it's better to look at the potential of 14-0 than the reality of 8-5, that "realism" is vastly overrated when that realism is nothing but negativity in masquerade.
We've stood in the watchtower, like Habakkuk, waiting in hope ... no in expectation ... for things to fall into place. We've endured the taunts of the pagan and the profane and the poultry.
Now, I am here to tell you: those days are past. The judgment of Assyria is at hand. The Sons of Clemson, those who have labored so long for this moment, are the instrument of that fate.
The flame has been summoned, and it will consume those who deride, who doubt, who have seen with their own eyes but choose not to believe.
Have you not seen? Do you not believe? Then the time has come to turn away and seek shelter.
The Deacons have learned what we already knew. This team is bound for greatness. These young men are not willing to settle for less than obliteration of those who stand before us.
The decision is now your's. Climb on board or stand in the tracks. Or, just hide in your Cockaboose and prepare for an approaching past to come full circle.
Because if it's hard enough to catch a runaway train, imagine how it feels to stand on the tracks, hearing the rumbling ... and know it's coming for you.