Ode to a fallen team Hoya

By the

March 29, 2001

Sing in me, O’ Muse, of fallen tournament warriors

Speak now on the fabled lore of our tested and noble Hoya ballers

In this new century, there was a new season

And Hoyas stood fast against all hopes and reason

Unranked, untested, fighting the fight of the ages

Against cynics, naysayers, soothsayers and sages

Vitales and Diggers, who would have known that the wins would come?

‘Twas the students and faithful who saw what was invisible to some

And of course the players knew, no more NIT banners for them

To the hilltop and D.C. victory they would lend

A Hector of new emerged, a tested knight with sharp-edged ‘bows

His name is Boumtje-Boumtje, and he reaps the victory that he sows

Rebounds and swats, to ‘Cuse he did it in a row twice,

Made them and Boeheim cower on the bench, forlornly looking like tiny mice

But as this Hector exits Troy in the fury of the fight,

His Achilles shines through the strife with a most crushing might,

A soldier that lives to fight another day, Sweetney’s frame blinds enemies like night

His heel comes to light when taking free throws

But the young man makes it up with dunks and boards, as any student knows

So Sweetney will return, not going the pro way

That the Cameroon power Boumtje-Boumtje may

Others will, though, namely seniors Lee and Perry

Two short-lived phenoms also known as Scruggs and Anthony

The much-called “Spindly transfer” stared down the toughest of Terps

And Perry’s three-point touch was scarier than even the most frightening of perps

But behind it all lied the General, and the Muse does not sing of Bob Knight

Rather this guard is a local lad, most fine and upright

His name is Braswell, a local chap refined at MCI (the school and the stadium)

This Kevin went left on most, and foes knew not what to do with him!

A one-handed crossover, a right-handed drive, and all that’s left is a glimpse of mustache

Past guards he would slide, into the skirmish he went, and opponents he would mash

Fans love his soft big-game three

And a needle-threading no-look is a sight to see

So these valiant combatants, with Hunter, Wilson, Riley, and Hillier in toe

Brought the program back to the prominence of the big show

Sweet sixteen teams there were, and despite the loss

Esherick should be proud (being the big boss)

We’re back, we watched, we’re proud, and McDonough needed victory

O’ Muse, how fine to win like towel-shouldered Coach John T!

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