Found this off of the comments section on football brainiacs
A Visit From T. Boone
‘Twas the week before Bedlam, when in the Gundy home,
Cale was in bed, leaving Mike all alone.
Mike looked into their room, and when he saw his brother sleeping,
He shut the door quietly, and down the hall he went creeping.
Pass the kitchen, the pantry, the closet for brooms.
He slipped past the couch. He stopped at no rooms.
Into the night he went. In his hand was a sack.
He shivered in the cold, despite the coat on his back.
And from the sack he retrieved several dollars in rolls.
He made a circle of money that from his parents he stole.
He lit a single candle. He stripped to his undies.
There was evil afoot at the home of the Gundy’s.
“Show me the money!” Said Gundy to the night.
“Show me the money!” And soon came the sight:
A Cadillac in black, the blackest, my reader.
Not powered by horses, but by the souls of world leaders.
Coins from the carriage, hit Mike on the head,
Then the window rolled down, from which a voice said:
“You got five minutes. That’s all you could steal?”
It was that of T. Boone, the richest of heels.
“Show me my future. Please show me,” said Mike.
“My brother is better at everything we like.”
“His game is so good. His girls are so pretty.
He has talent galore, and he rules Midwest City.”
“He runs like a horse. He kicks like a mule.
He is the opposite of me, and I’m the opposite of cool.”
From the window came a smile, ivory fangs with gold fillings.
“Come to Stillwater with me. For with me you’ll make a killing.”
“Championships are overrated if you can’t buy them, you see?
You’ll have a five-loss buffer if you’re coaching for me.
Sure, it’s not Norman. The pickings are slim.
The men are all jerks, and the women are all men.”
“Let your brother be better, smarter, wiser, and quicker.
Who cares what he is when your wallet is thicker.
Just sign the dotted line,” said the wealthy old sinner.
“Come roll with the rollers, while he wins with the winners.”
And wouldn’t you know it, that night they made a deal.
The pact it was made. Their fate it was sealed:
Cale would ride the Schooner through the glories of battle.
While Mike took the douche canoe to become its lead paddle.
The Cadillac departed, not another word said.
Mike went to his kennel, beneath his bro’s bed.
He would never beat Cale, Mike laughed at the thought,
But who needs success if success can’t be bought?
Five losses. So what? Six losses. Who cares?
He would pay dictators to come spike his hair.
And if in the event, he played a championship game,
Regardless of the outcome, he’d get paid all the same.
Mike Gundy giggled at the thoughts in his head.
He giggled and giggled until he wet his paper bed.
With a snort and with glee, he rolled in his pee,
That’s when the kennel door locked, and Mike stopped giggling to see:
Behind the kennel door smiled his younger brother.
Mike yelled for help. He yelled for their mother.
While they waited for her, Cale gave Mike a mooner.
That’s when they heard Mama’s voice: “Shut up! And Boomer
A Visit From T. Boone
‘Twas the week before Bedlam, when in the Gundy home,
Cale was in bed, leaving Mike all alone.
Mike looked into their room, and when he saw his brother sleeping,
He shut the door quietly, and down the hall he went creeping.
Pass the kitchen, the pantry, the closet for brooms.
He slipped past the couch. He stopped at no rooms.
Into the night he went. In his hand was a sack.
He shivered in the cold, despite the coat on his back.
And from the sack he retrieved several dollars in rolls.
He made a circle of money that from his parents he stole.
He lit a single candle. He stripped to his undies.
There was evil afoot at the home of the Gundy’s.
“Show me the money!” Said Gundy to the night.
“Show me the money!” And soon came the sight:
A Cadillac in black, the blackest, my reader.
Not powered by horses, but by the souls of world leaders.
Coins from the carriage, hit Mike on the head,
Then the window rolled down, from which a voice said:
“You got five minutes. That’s all you could steal?”
It was that of T. Boone, the richest of heels.
“Show me my future. Please show me,” said Mike.
“My brother is better at everything we like.”
“His game is so good. His girls are so pretty.
He has talent galore, and he rules Midwest City.”
“He runs like a horse. He kicks like a mule.
He is the opposite of me, and I’m the opposite of cool.”
From the window came a smile, ivory fangs with gold fillings.
“Come to Stillwater with me. For with me you’ll make a killing.”
“Championships are overrated if you can’t buy them, you see?
You’ll have a five-loss buffer if you’re coaching for me.
Sure, it’s not Norman. The pickings are slim.
The men are all jerks, and the women are all men.”
“Let your brother be better, smarter, wiser, and quicker.
Who cares what he is when your wallet is thicker.
Just sign the dotted line,” said the wealthy old sinner.
“Come roll with the rollers, while he wins with the winners.”
And wouldn’t you know it, that night they made a deal.
The pact it was made. Their fate it was sealed:
Cale would ride the Schooner through the glories of battle.
While Mike took the douche canoe to become its lead paddle.
The Cadillac departed, not another word said.
Mike went to his kennel, beneath his bro’s bed.
He would never beat Cale, Mike laughed at the thought,
But who needs success if success can’t be bought?
Five losses. So what? Six losses. Who cares?
He would pay dictators to come spike his hair.
And if in the event, he played a championship game,
Regardless of the outcome, he’d get paid all the same.
Mike Gundy giggled at the thoughts in his head.
He giggled and giggled until he wet his paper bed.
With a snort and with glee, he rolled in his pee,
That’s when the kennel door locked, and Mike stopped giggling to see:
Behind the kennel door smiled his younger brother.
Mike yelled for help. He yelled for their mother.
While they waited for her, Cale gave Mike a mooner.
That’s when they heard Mama’s voice: “Shut up! And Boomer
