Each year, the house that won the pumpkin rugby game challenges the house that lost the pumpkin rugby game to a game of, not surprisingly, pumpkin rugby. This is done, I am afraid to confess, in a public setting, and this was this years response to the challenge, read by Ryan Handermann and Nate Douglas.
Ryan: Woe! Woe! Woe! Weeping and wailing arises from Blaine Street and all Israel can hear her lamentations. How Anna Street stomped upon our faces and beat our precious pumpkins into the ground! How they have sneered at our rucks and pranced about in our Trizone! They have strewn our mutilated bodies over the whole earth, vultures have come and eaten our flesh. They buried the remains deep in the earth, where no light could penetrate. And there was nothing to mark our death-graves only seven small pieces of broken pumpkin. Death be not proud! Oh Israel! The night is darkest, just before the dawn.
Nate: Dawn. She shone with her rose-red fingers, slowly creeping across the sky, like blood spilt over the floor. The sky was red. Today, blood would be spilt at the hands of Blaine St.
But then, the earth began to shake, lightning ripped through the sky, as the headstones of the graves split like the temple veil. Hades rejected the men of Blaine, who then arose from the coffins, battered, bruised, and muddied. The sun sprang up, leaving the brilliant waters in its wake, climbing the bronze sky to shower light on the on the men now clad in white. The men approached, clad in white, and the names that set on them were death, and hell followed with them.
Ryan: Then hell broke loose upon a third of the field which views the mountain. Horses flew forward urged on by their shining riders. And then, just before the clash of battle sounded, all looked up and upon the cliff overseeing the battle stood a man. Frozen in time, they waited. Then the prophet of old who had been lying on his side, right hand lifted up before the sunrise, spoke these words: “Behold, I have looked with my eyes, and I have seen a vision from the pumpkin colored-heavens.
Nate: A man, like Hector, burst through in glory, his face dark as the sudden rushing night, but he blazed on in white and terrible fire broke from the bright garments that wrapped his body, two pumpkins clutched in his fists. No one could fight him, no one could stop him, none but the gods as the man rushed through their masses and his eyes flashed fire. And whirling around he cried to his brave men of white, shouting through the ruck, “The line! Storm the line!”
Look, Breath, Both: We, on behalf of blaine st and all men it doth represent, do accept this challenge.
N: For redemption.
N: For freedom.
R: For a random faculty or student.
N: For Plato
R: And Aristotle
N: For women’s suffrage
R: For the Gourd Goddess
Both: Don’t ruck until you see the whites of their thighs.