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A Trojan Tale

The Hawks of Carrollton first felt the bite of Hungry Chickens And through the mist and through the night, the soup began to thicken. Like Burgoo boiling, Trojans came across the field for pride Coach Jay said, “Go!” and go they did to start the winning tide. The score stood thirty-two to six when final buzzers rang And Hawks drooped tails and slunk back home from their first football game. The Trojans came, the Trojans went, the plot began to thicken. And once again the cry went up, “By Gosh! It tastes like chicken!”

Next Pleasant Hill gave quite a thrill, the closest of the year. The Pike-fed boys made lots of noise but closed the game in tears. The Wolves were feisty, fast, and mean, an ugly little bunch. But smells of chicken filled the air and Wolves became the lunch. The final score read 14-12, a tiny scare for us But Kirbach’s, Miller’s, Meyer’s feet kicked P.Hill on their bus. The Trojans came, the Trojans went, the plot began to thicken. And once again the cry went up, “By Gosh! It tastes like chicken!”

The boys from Scott were in the pot before the chicken flew And as for points, there just was not a single Wildcat due. The Mighty Dutchmen of the Corn skunked Wildcats there all night. And when the game had ended then, the ‘Cat had learned to fly. Much like a chicken, then they flew, and cried and bit their lips.
The final score of that quick game was 45 to Zip. The Trojans came, the Trojans went, the plot began to thicken. And once again the cry went up, “By Gosh! It tastes like chicken!”

Even Redbirds, when cooked right, taste a lot like foul, And in Virginia that hot day the birds were on the prowl. Homecoming thoughts were in the air when kickoff time had come. And Jay-bird’s boys joined in the fun and sent them coming-home. The clock itself ran fast that day, the shutout rule enforced And twice in two weeks time the skunk went to the Trojan horse. And Redbirds then, like chicken stew, became a tasty stuffing. And caught their feathers in the fan, 58 to nothing. The Trojans came, the Trojans went, the plot began to thicken. And once again the cry went up, “By Gosh! It tastes like chicken!”

The rivalry of old was next as purple shirts and gold Marched on the field to see if they could break the strangle-hold. No golden shirts could stop the crowd of blue and white that day And when the smoke had cleared at Routt, the Rockets had to pay. Thirty-five brave Trojan points to fourteen there from Routt. Amazing grace was on our side and fish had turned to fowl. The Trojans came, the Trojans went, the plot began to thicken. And once again the cry went up, “By Gosh! It tastes like chicken!”

Then from the wigwams of the river came the red Dosh men They’d hoped their losing season now would finally come to end. But such was not the case as this brave tribe from near river’s bend Came hoping for a victory, but these poor reds got skinned. Their brand-new coach tried everything to help his team along But though they fought darned hard and fast, they didn’t fight too Long. Fifty-one brave hard-earned points! The Trojan team had licked ‘em! And as for Dosh, a goose’s egg began to look like chicken. The Trojans came, the Trojans went, the plot began to thicken. And once again the cry went up, “By Gosh! It tastes like chicken!”

And then another champ stepped up, this time from ISD The Tigers roared, the Tigers growled, but at the referees. The western sun was slipping low when finally they appeared All dressed in black and white and pulling flags from out their rears. Despite the loss of Great Sir Josh, the one we miss the most, The Trojan team, like great machines, destroyed the dusky host. Thirty-five to just fourteen was what the scoreboard said, And even though we’d lost a star, the sun shone overhead. The Trojans came, the Trojans went, the plot began to thicken. And once again the cry went up, “By Gosh! It tastes like chicken!”

The Spartan team from North of Greene was next to feel the heat As chicken feathers filled the air and Jay just stirred the meat. The cry went up from Mason when he called out, “Okay! Hike!” And poor North Greene thought that they’d found another thing to strike. And when the mud had settled and we heard the final bell, The boys in blue from Greene were red-faced, thirty-six to twelve. The Trojans came, the Trojans went, the plot began to thicken. And once again the cry went up, “By Gosh! It tastes like chicken!”

A nd then as if a Bruce-ly cheer came roaring down from heaven, We thought of that dark night last year in 1997 When on the Calhoun field we hung our spikes up for the season. And hung our heads, thus giving us for vengeance now, a reason. The Calhoun hordes came in their trucks and wagons, sleds, and bikes. The fire was in their eyes that night and lightening in their spikes. Their helmets scarred with hard-earned knocks, they came to gain a stake Upon the state’s great winner’s ranks and take their “rightful place.” The Trojan horse ground out the yards upon the Kemper’s field (The refs tried moving Don a bit, but Kemper wouldn’t yield.) The chicken spirit hovered slowly ‘round the hard-fought game And once or twice he dipped a wing as if to call our name. The final quarter told the tale as scores were still quite low And either team could take the game with one, great stunning blow. Then came that play to be re-lived throughout our memories, As Aaron Meyer grabbed onto pigskin, trying to break free. And free he broke and broke and broke, then someone broke him too. And then commenced a struggle that would crush the Warrior crew. The ball popped out and Miller touched it briefly, then it flew From his steel toe on toward the goal, a soccer play indeed And Stotler tried to pick it up but ‘twas indeed, no need. For Witte’s hands were next to land upon the fateful ball And when the dust had cleared we feared that we had lost it all. The pile was deep, the dirt was thick, the hands all scrambled ‘round As thousands there awaited then the ref’s official sound. He dug right through the motley crew until he found the ball. His hands shot in the air and then we heard the chicken’s call. “Who did it?” everyone inquired. “Who finally nailed it down?” Coach Jay exploded off the ground and then we heard the sound. “That one’s for Bruce! That touchdown’s his!” The Jay-bird proudly crowed. And Big Ben Six then shyly smiled and said, “I should have knowed.” Sixteen to six the final score rang ‘round the state at last. And all who saw the game that night knew Calhoun’s time had past. The Trojans came, the Trojans went, the plot began to thicken. And once again the cry went up, “By Gosh! It tastes like chicken!” lllllllllllllllllll

And now we stand upon the threshold boldly, hearts aglow. And now we know the thrill of those who’ve gone before we go. And now the pride of Trojan land stands tall and wishes well. And now the Team of ’98 has quite a tale to tell. And somewhere in the stands there sits a little boy out there His heart is beating like a drum, the night wind blows his hair. He sees his heroes on the field, with names like Beams and Beck And hopes that someday even he might give that ball a kick. He sees his heroes swallow pride, give credit where it’s due, And watches as they take in stride the praise for those to whom The victor’s crown is laid upon, and watches every move Of those, his heroes on the field, and wants some day to do Just what these Trojans now have done and be what they have been, He wants to grow up like the guys who brought the chickens in. His heroes smile, his heroes love, his heroes truly care. They lift their heads in gratitude, then bow their heads in prayer. The Trojans come, the Trojans go, the attitude just thickens. And future Trojans earn their wings, and start to dream of chicken!