Haiku for odd AU victories over LSU

Screw Haiku, let's do this right.

The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Bayou Bengals that day;
the score stood 18-13, with but one minute more to play.
And then when Chark missed a pass, and Dural did the same,
a sickly silence fell upon the purple patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
they thought, if only Miles could get but a chance at that –
they'd put up even money, now, with the Mad Hatter at the bat.

But Etling hampered Miles, as did also Coach Cam,
and the former was a transfer and the latter not worth a damn,
so upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
for there seemed but little chance of Miles's getting to the bat.

But Etling drove the field, to the wonderment of all,
and Cam, the much despised, let his team go throw the ball;
and when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
there were the Tigers with a chance, resolute and undeterred.

Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
it rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
it knocked upon the mountain and became a mighty din,
for Miles, mighty Miles, was advancing for the win.

There was ease in Miles's manner as he stepped into his place;
there was pride in Miles's bearing and a smile on Miles's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he highly wore his hat,
no stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Miles at the bat.

Ninety thousand eyes were on him as he plucked a blade of grass;
ninety thousand tongues applauded as he squatted on his arse.
As the tired defense stood with hands upon the hip,
defiance gleamed in Miles's eye, a sneer curled Miles's lip.

And now the precious seconds came hurtling through the air,
and Miles stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy referees the time unheeded sped--
"That ain't my style," said Miles. “17 seconds," the referee said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill him! Kill the referee!" shouted someone on the stand;
and it's likely they'd have killed him had not Miles raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Miles's visage shone;
he stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
he signaled to the referee, and once more the down was done;
but Miles still ignored it, with the clock now down to one

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;
but one scornful look from Miles and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
and they knew that Miles wouldn't let time go by again.

The sneer is gone from Miles's lip, his teeth are clenched in dread;
he pounds with cruel violence his hat upon his head.
And now the center holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
and now the air is shattered by the force of Etling's throw.

Oh, somewhere in the bayou land the sun is shining bright;
the band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
and somewhere Tiger fans received what long their hearts desired;
but there is no joy in Baton Rouge — the Mad Hatter has been fired.

Man, I hope you didn't put too much time into that because nobody is reading all that

quote:

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Man, I hope you didn't put too much time into that because nobody is reading all that

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Just changed a handful of words from the original. Only took 5-10 minutes.