Sunday sermon: One word, one fury, one outcome

Nov 24, 2013, 9:26 AM

And the word ... which should come as no surprise to the faithful ... is this:

The Spirit indeed works in mysterious ways. In all the years we have been summoned to Gee-Haw'd!!, the fates have never placed the cesspool of Columbia in their crosshairs.

But for more than a month, this has been the goal. This has been the focal point of rage, or the deep bitter sense of unfinished business.

This is our goal: the utter desolation of everything that stands between Clemson and destiny. To set right the world and place the Earth back on its proper axis.

To do this, there is only one outcome.

South Carolina must be destroyed.

There must not be two of the fouled bricks of their upside-down cockroach left standing. Let every coop reek of feathers and shame, and let every Cockaboose wallow in the shameful mixture of cheap booze and tears.

Sons of Clemson, much has been made of legacy, of how your name will be remembered. I trust you do not want to be remembered as the punch line to this tired old joke...

We ain't 'Bama, and we ain't LSU! Hey Tigers! Fear the thumb!

Are you truly willing to let this shameful sham-wow of a man keep you from everything that is waiting for you? When you look into the eyes of your grandchildren will your stories of Clemson be filled with glory or sad resignation that the King of the Capons denied your birthright?

Do the seniors truly wish to be known as men who couldn't beat chickens? Do the freshmen wish to inherit this legacy of mockery? Do any ... ANY ... of you wish to see everything from a BCS bowl to your self respect dissolve in a mocking cackle of Capons?

Retribution is a weapon best sharpened by the tears of pain.

Do you want the name Clemson ... and your names as the heirs of the Valley .. to be honored, or to be a punch line?

This, then is what must be done. Turn every thought, every action, every dream and goal into a finely honed blade. Let that blade slice the sinew and rubbery skin of the Capons.

Let no Capon go unpunished for their vile, wretched ways.

Turn their crowing into rueful clucks of despair. Scatter their gullets and giblets from Gervais Street to Greenville. Let no feather go unplucked, no beak unbroken.

This is not a time to counsel compassion. This is war ... a total, unmercied war for the legacy of Clemson.

And when we are done, when we are plucking pullet pieces from our cleats and the stream of taillights from Williams-Brice light the path of disgrace of the feathered fools who worshiped the tired, smirking man now suddenly looking very, very old ... then you will know your legacy.

We are Tigers. We are Clemson. We are the men who have brought the roar to the mountain's heights so those who follow may walk in the light and no longer fear stepping in chicken $hit.

It is time ... well past time ... to put things back where they belong.

Pick up the pitchfork and ax. Tune up the tractors and set the furrows deep.

There is much to do. And this is the time to do it.

Nothing else matters, on Earth or heaven.

South Carolina must fall ... and fall hard.

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Sunday sermon: One word, one fury, one outcome

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