'Twas the Day of the Natty

College football fans far and wide, the fateful day is upon us. As you may know by now, my blood runneth orange for my dear alma mater and I think I can speak for almost all Clemson fans when I say being in a national championship game again for the third time in four years still feels like something of a fairy tale. As we go through today with our hopes high and our fingers crossed, I offer a national championship hope-for-glory spin on an old classic:

'Twas the Day of the Natty

'Twas the day of the natty and all through the land,

Hearts were racing for Clemson Tiger fans;

Jerseys and orange and Tiger print they would wear,

Tiger paws and "All In" over here and out there;

Excited for game day, they sprang from their beds;

While visions of championships danced in their heads;

Players in orange pants, and fans in the stands,

Waiting for game time, Tiger rags in our hands.

When there on the field there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my seat to see what was the matter.

Away to the endzone, that ball flew like a flash,

Caught in the hands of Hunter Renfrow, that check you can cash.

And even though there was still more game time to go,

I had a good feeling the Crimson Tide would not roll.

When what to my wondering eyes did appear,

But our mighty defense, with Christian Wilkins so dear.

Those Tigers they played with such a fierce might

I knew in a moment we must win this fight.

As the game clock ticked down to a magical stop

Referees blew their whistles, the Tigers on top!

"Now, Etienne! now, Feaster! now Lawrence and crew!

On, Higgins! on, Bryant! on, Huegel, all of you!

Douse Dabo with Gatorade and that trophy, you raise!

We'll have a parade, and a party, and celebrate for days!"

As confetti will fall and the cheers still arise,

Our players will dance, grown men will have tears in their eyes;

Sing the alma mater proudly, this job's been done well,

Raise your hands to the heavens, and all Tigers yell:

As we brag and exclaim to all within sight:

Fight, Tigers, fight Tigers, fight, fight, fight!

Let's go, Tigers! Have fun, win the closer!

It's January's Fault

The holidays are over, our decorations are coming down, and our pants are too tight. We've swapped Christmas cookies for veggie chips, turned off the holiday movies and headed to the gym, and packed away our fantastically ugly sweaters until next year. The Christmastide party has ended, and this time, it's January's fault.

I've had issues with January since I can remember. She's a harsh, hateful month that appears like a stop sign, ending my yuletide festivities without so much as a backward glance at her devastation. Over the last few years, Christmas has come upon us earlier and earlier, and now it basically begins the day after Halloween. You haven't finished your fun-sized Snickers before carols are on the radio, stores are decked with trees and twinkling lights, and we can hardly believe that the season is already beginning. Now we have two whole months of merriment, and then...just like that, it is over. And it's January's fault.

Shouldn't we be allowed some time to taper off? Can't there be a way to wind things down gradually, rather than an abrupt end? I need some type of 12-step program to help me wean myself off of celebrating. Clint said we're like astronauts preparing for reentry to Earth after some otherworldly time away, and I have likened it to a diver, coming up from the depths after scuba diving: you can't resurface too quickly or else you risk getting the bends. If you decompress too rapidly, bad things happen, and this is as true for post holiday survival as it is at sea. Give me a moment, dear January, to re-acclimate to sea level, would you? My system is going into shock, and it's January's fault.

January requires that we take off our reindeer antlers and Santa hats and act like adults again. I couldn't help but notice the other shoppers in the grocery store this week, just like myself, dutifully adding healthy items to their cart. Eggnog is a fading memory, and Little Debbie has, in an unusually cruel move, replaced our beloved Christmas Tree Cakes with Valentine confections instead. The produce department is jam packed, our carts are full and our stomachs are still empty. The fun is finished, and it's January's fault.

I looked up January 2019 holidays, and aside from Martin Luther King, Jr's birthday, what we have left to celebrate are auspicious occasions like Houseplant Appreciation Day on January 10, Dress Up Your Pet Day on the 14th, and National Kazoo Day, which falls this year on the 28th day of the month. Be sure to mark your calendars, because I would hate for anyone to miss out on a second of the wild jubilation that is January.

I've told you before that January is the stern librarian who shushes our December laughter. She's the state trooper who pulls you over for going 10 miles over the speed limit. January is a mock turtleneck made out of an itchy, synthetic material. If January was a shoe, she would be a high heel Croc: uncomfortable and unsightly, and in my opinion, unnecessary.

If January was a shoe, she would definitely be a high heel Croc.

All good things must come to an end, or so they say, and this time, it's January's fault. So raise a glass of filtered water, have another bowl of veggie chips, and lace up your running shoes. January is here, ushering in a whole new year, that nagging list of responsible resolutions, and encouraging us to pass the time by celebrating our houseplants while playing a kazoo and putting dresses on our dogs. I can barely contain my excitement.

My level of enthusiasm for good ol' January: yay.