WoodsmanVol
It takes wisdom to understand wisdom.
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- May 12, 2010
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Repeatedly assured she was hopeless. Mocked for continuing to don her orange uniform and wearing it with presumed pride. Negavols, the doubters of doom stalked her at all hours of the day, and invaded her dreams at night. Today, the Brittlewood Bridge that spans the unpredictable Creek of Despair stood before her. The Negavols ghosts followed as usual, mocking her. Calling her a coward. Daring her to set foot on the bridge as it groaned and creaked, exhibiting a menacing promise to give at any moment. And the creek that ran low one moment yet threatened to rise as a roaring torrent the next.
Ahead came the increasing murmurs of support from the Vols faithful. All eager to see inter-conference and intra-conference battles again. Believers who rejected the dreary Negavols doomsayers. Then with a glance backward she told the spiteful spirits, "I run not in fear of you but in desperate eagerness to cheer my team. I run across this bridge over the troubling waters in faith powered haste. I go believing we will outperform your doubting predictions. I go to to escape your lack of guts to love the orange enough to believe in them."
And so, she crossed the bridge that wobbled and half fell apart at her passing. She crossed in spite of the creeks sudden rise as it sought to wash her off the bridge. Wet and disheveled, she joined the other orange clad faithful ones who had crossed before her. No longer was a murmur heard, instead a roar of voices braced by an unwavering belief in the young men on the field. Young men who battled, neither asking nor giving quarter. The ghosts stood on the other side of the bridge. Gutless, too cowardly to accept the very challenge they insultingly hurled at the orange dressed damsel who had just gone across. Youd think those dead in heart as much as everything else would not fear such a crossing. I suppose even doomsayer ghosts fear doom. And it appears Benjamin Grimm was correct when he said, Watta revoltin development.
Ahead came the increasing murmurs of support from the Vols faithful. All eager to see inter-conference and intra-conference battles again. Believers who rejected the dreary Negavols doomsayers. Then with a glance backward she told the spiteful spirits, "I run not in fear of you but in desperate eagerness to cheer my team. I run across this bridge over the troubling waters in faith powered haste. I go believing we will outperform your doubting predictions. I go to to escape your lack of guts to love the orange enough to believe in them."
And so, she crossed the bridge that wobbled and half fell apart at her passing. She crossed in spite of the creeks sudden rise as it sought to wash her off the bridge. Wet and disheveled, she joined the other orange clad faithful ones who had crossed before her. No longer was a murmur heard, instead a roar of voices braced by an unwavering belief in the young men on the field. Young men who battled, neither asking nor giving quarter. The ghosts stood on the other side of the bridge. Gutless, too cowardly to accept the very challenge they insultingly hurled at the orange dressed damsel who had just gone across. Youd think those dead in heart as much as everything else would not fear such a crossing. I suppose even doomsayer ghosts fear doom. And it appears Benjamin Grimm was correct when he said, Watta revoltin development.