Twas the night before Pittsburgh, when all through my mind,
Were visions of couch burnings, both yours and mine.
Firemen were resting and acting quite lazy,
But they knew that things were about to get crazy.
The players were nestled, Markell did his dreds,
While visions of Bourbon Street danced in their heads.
There were Quinton's gold teeth, Larry's son in his lap,
While the quarterback made noises to sound like a cat.
When down in the end zone there arose such a noise,
They sprang from their homes and called all their boys.
To the field they flew, fast as Devine,
Making sure to pick up the offensive line.
The invaders had arrived at the stadium early,
These Panthers were looking noticeably surly.
There was a point to this late-night trip through the hills,
They were out on the field doing defensive drills.
With a dapper old coach who combed his mustache,
You knew in a moment it must be Wannstedt.
He'd made his name as a defensive master,
And he whistled and shouted for them to run faster!
"Watch Slaton! Watch Schmitt! Watch Reynaud and White!
Watch option! Watch bubble! Could be a rough night!
Let's stand at the goal line and build a big wall,
And keep them from their shot to play for it all!"
As they began to believe his bold rally cry,
There was a flash and a pop up high in the sky.
They reacted the same, with a quick double take,
What they saw made them stop in their cleats and quake.
On the top of the stadium a man made his stand,
As he calmly adjusted his Nike wristbands.
He said "My name's Rich, as you surely know,"
Then ran down the bleachers with Mountaineers in tow.
They were dressed all in gold, from their heads to their feet,
And they looked like they'd win a 12-team track meet.
A bundle of plays he had in his book,
And there was no mistaking that confident look.
Pitt's eyes, how they widened! Their hearts, how they pounded!
All for the biggest game since this brawl was founded.
One side had momentum, the other desperation,
This battle wouldn't wait for the eyes of the nation!
Caridi was roused from a much-needed sleep,
So were Hickman and Hertzel, the last with a bleep.
They brought their pens, paper and elaborate prose,
To witness this battle of bitter old foes.
It was dark and cold, your breath you could see,
But that didn't stop the kickoff of Pat McAfee.
The tackle, of course, came from an old Hawk named Emery,
And so started this game that would soon be a memory.
They spoke so few words as they went to work,
But score after score drove the visitors berserk.
The Mountaineers rolled, as was expected,
While the Panthers backed off, clearly dejected.
There was a Gatorade shower that gave poor Rich shivers,
While no one seemed happier than one Vaughn Rivers.
They exclaimed after singing about Almost Heaven,
"Well see you in New Orleans on January 7."
