Twas the night before Christmas and all through the Vent
Subscribers’ emotions were fried, each emotionally spent.
The playoffs were nigh, the quarterfinals all set
But Georgia fans everywhere still had plenty to vet
The venters were buzzing, this would be no cakewalk
Could Kirby pull it off, or was it simply all talk?
And Radi in his slippers and Dash in his sweats,
Wondered what the hell now, why do they always just fret?
So of course on the board we heard such a pinging,
Folks freaking out, the Dawgvent was singing.
So, fumbling for my phone, I hit the On Key
Clicked on the bookmark, and what did I see?
The number of posts on the still blinking screen
Something sure was amiss, what does this possibly mean?
When what to my bloodshot eyes do appear
What’s the source of this anger? Ah, now it’s perfectly clear
They did it again, Venters said with much snark;
ESPN picked the Irish, do they think it’s a lark?
More rabid than pitbulls, the names they all came,
Venters cursed and they shouted, they screamed oh for shame.
It was Donut, it was Franklin, kckd and Savannah;
Valrico, easy chair, Bill Zane, yes they all went bananas
To the top the top of the Vent, to the top of the board
Go F ESPN, who needs that unspeakable hoard?
As time passed, after the diatribe quelled;
Venters gained their composure, would it hold? Time would tell
So, a press conference was scheduled, what words would be true?
Would Venters get answers, or is Georgia totally screwed?
And then in a moment, he came stomping through the door,
Crumbled up his papers and tossed them on the floor.
As I gathered myself, I asked for the mic,
Kirby Smart’s eyes were flaring, now this was a sight.
He was a dressed in a sweatshirt, a new Nike brand
But this was no time for sitting, he wanted to stand
The notes he prepared, were still down the ground;
No prepared statement today, it was time to get down
His hair appeared ruffled, unshaven, unkempt
Kirby was pissed and it showed, he was ready to vent.
He chose his words carefully, but he had something to say;
“Dawgs lose to the Irish? ESPN, you will pay!
A bottle of coke stood alone on his right
But Coach did not drink it, not on this chilly night
Instead, a wry smile and a nod of his head
Soon let the room now, they had nothing to dread
He spoke no more words, just turned away with a jerk;
Muttered “I’ll show those M-foulkers, especially Kirk”
So, stomping away, out the door he did go
He’s got coaching to do, Kirby’s done with that show
So, pack your bags for New Orleans, that city of Sin
Kirby yelled back “We’ve beat them three times and we’ll do it again!”
But I heard him exclaim as he strode out of sight
“Screw the Irish, they’re finished! Dawgs will roll them all night!”
