#11 - Whiskey, Football, and Walton

This is a toast to all those fucked up warriors
I have linked limb and heart with. There are days
where we are not rich enough to fill our cups over
with anything but Sunny Brook,
but by God, if camaraderie had a price,
we could burn down this whole town with alcohol.

There were days where I met brothers
shoulder-to-shoulder on the bleachers of Kyle Field,
screaming out hearts out for our beloved 12th Man,
and I will forever remember 3rd deck fondly.

But even the best armies have skeletons
when they finally clean out their closets.
It would be untrue for me to state that I felt no remorse
watching those I bled and sweat for stand so coldly
opposite a burning stack solemnly, the light flickering
and bouncing off of pots so worn down, on a good day,
I can see the reflection of my soul. While I cannot
hold much of a grudge for being the bastard child
of Bonfire, I am not the only forgotten fishbuddy.