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Blast From the Past: Turkey Hunter on the Cards

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Its Louisville week and that means that we have to revisit all that makes up the Cards and the Card fans. We have addressed the topic here many times on this site, but rarely has it been said as eloquently as in 2007 when the Turkey Hunter wrote this poem that not only encapsulated Card Nation but got a radio host suspended from his job. Now that is strong work:

Twas the night before game day,
And all through the Ville,
Willie Williams’ brain sputtered,
“should I assault, kill, or steal?”;

The jerseys were hung by the Cards lockers with care,
Coaches praying that come morning, bail bonds would be fair;
The players were nestled, all snug in their beds,
While visions of Woodyard pounded their heads;

My cooler filled with beer, my flask filled with Beam,
My heart filled with hatred for the red and black team
Their bandwagon fans, shouted out in a chorus,
“Come on! You respect us! We drive a Ford Taurus!”

To the top ten in the nation, they arose like a flash,
Hoping that no one would notice, their defense was trash.
Just like all of their transfers, they don’t make a big fuss,
Whether its IQs or points allowed, they accept forty plus.

They traveled to Lex town, from their hot ghetto mess,
With B. Brohm, their leader, pounding his chest,
His leadership in question, can he run the show?
Will the team take his orders, from someone not their P.O.?

Kragthorpe and coaches and their fifteen minutes of fame,
Whistled and shouted, and called plays out by name;”
Now, Willie! Get the ball- it’s that thing that is brown
!If they block you, just resist em’, like when the police take you down!”

Pursuit give em’ chase, don’t quit til they fall!
Why does Willie keep screamin’, from the window to the wall!
D-Backs go to man, Willie, watch the snap!,
Does the director from Life Goes On have to deal with this crap!?!”

So to Commonwealth they came, fair-weather fans all in tow,
With degrees they obtained, from driving by campus real slow.
With Red on their sweaters, and shame underneath,
They all missed their exits, for shame, they can’t read.

Brohm’s uni was all tattered, with mud, chalk, and turf;
His face slightly less bloody, than when he came out at birth
His Heisman forgotten, his body in pain,
At the end of his performance, Britney Spears felt ashamed.

When the final horn sounds, look for the Cats with a win,
The Nation erupting, and Coach Brooks with a grin,
He’ll have three TDs passing and Woodson runs for another,
DLJ puts up two, and once with somebody’s mother.

Cardinals beware, you’re now in our sights,
And ya better tighten up those chin straps, its gonna be a long night.

Article written by Matt Jones