Stanford-LSU in the national title game. The two academic football powerhouses fight for collegiate supremacy. Everyone else is just a stepping stone in Les' March to Glendale. Once his reign of terror is over, and he is long gone; burried deep beneath the murky, bloody bayou where he once plotted to crush the dreams of his adversaries; people will look back to his legacy and see the brutal, ruthless beauty in his "total warfare" mindset--that "winning" was arbitrary, and only total destruction of the opponent would satisfy his blood lust.

His memoirs will read:

" We rode out of Atlanta by the Decatur road that first week of December as Champions, filled by the savage defensive linemen, marauders, born of the swamp and born for one purpose--to brawl with a ruthless and carefree attitude towards the pain and misery which they inflicted on the opposition; and reaching the hill, just outside of the old Georgia dome, we naturally paused to look back upon the scenes of our past battles. We stood upon the very ground whereon was fought the bloody battle of December 5th, and could see the copse of the team they used to call The Volunteers, fell. Behind us lay Atlanta, smouldering and in ruins, the black smoke rising high in air, and hanging like a pall over the ruined city. Away off in the distance, on the I-85 interstate, was the rear of LSU flag, glistening in the sun, the reigning Heisman winner, Leonard Fournette, basking in the ruin he imposed upon the opposition from the East; and right before us the Brutes of the offensive line, marching steadily and rapidly, with a cheery look and swinging pace, that made light of the thousand miles that lay between us and Glendale.

Some band, by accident, struck up the anthem of "The Neck;" the men caught up the strain, and never before or since have I heard the chorus of "Suck That Tiger D*ck B*tch" done with more spirit, or in better harmony of time and place."