After dividing ourselves
And having dressed
In near angelic whiteness
Do we stroll upon the field
We shout our guttural cries
Ritual insults as required
By the customs of the game
The we gather to our respective sides
And with a kick of pigskin
We are off
Flurries of muck
Marking our trails
As we enthusastically charge
Throwing ourselves into fray
Bodies collide and fall
Sliding through the ooze
That we play upon
No one keeps score
For victory is not our aim
Merely to enjoy the day
Embracing each other at the end
Since no matter what went before
We are all the same color now
Having acheived a muddy equality
-STD '98