In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
— Lt.-Col. John McCrae (1872 - 1918)

Rest in peace big guy. Thanks for the memories. You were what I always wanted my team's QB to be: a fierce leader, a physical beast and the face of a franchise. You gave me someone to root for when my team didn't exist.

Cheers.

Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong
Under the shade of a coolibah tree,
And he sang as he watched and waited 'til his billy boiled
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me"

Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me"
And he sang as he watched and waited 'til his billy boiled,
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me".

Down came a jumbuck to drink at that billabong,
Up jumped the swagman and grabbed him with glee,
And he sang as he shoved that jumbuck in his tucker bag,
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me".

Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me"
And he sang as he shoved that jumbuck in his tucker bag,
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me".

Up rode the squatter, mounted on his thoroughbred,
Down came the troopers, one, two, three,
"Where's that jolly jumbuck you've got in your tucker bag?"
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me".

Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me"
"Where's that jolly jumbuck you've got in your tucker bag?",
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me".

Up jumped the swagman and sprang into the billabong,
"You'll never catch me alive", said he,
And his ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabong,
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me".

Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me"
And his ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabong,
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me."
"Oh, You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me."

http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/2009/feb/17/pride-and-predator-to-give-jane-austen-extreme-makeover

YES!

Gmail went down this morning before I went to work. The world has yet to recover...

Something must have knocked me out last night, because we got home at the very reasonable hour of 8:30-ish and I hit the bed and was out like a friggin light. Other than that, Ymir was a great event, if long as heck away.

Daytripped it down after thinking we couldn't the night before. Still, got in at the start of the royal court, saw the investitures and Celric get called up for his Provosting. It was a lot of fun. Fighting went well enough, it was a monster list. Our field was: Connor, Celric, Jean Claude, Vyv, myself, Phillipe, David, Unger and Amber, and another fighter who dropped out after the first round. Unger left after the second round and was replaced by Master Vortigern in a totally awesome Viking kit.

So, it was a meaty list. 4 provosts, 2 free scholars 3 scholars. I was happy with all of my fights, even though I went 3-6. My first fight was against Celric (baby Provost v. Baby free Scholar). It was a lot of fun, closed with him twice, managed to disarm him and we doubled. Second round he got me.

My second fight was against Vyv (who's comment on my fight was Celric was "Well, that was sufficently violent"). Moved around a bit, enganged but couldn't get in, as I stepped back he landed a beautiful shot to my forehead. I took on Amber and Phillipe next, won both those fights. I lost my bye fight to Jean Claude after legging him I let him toe-shot me, and one armed on the ground I couldn't hit him before he hit me.

Against Connor I had one of my most enjoyable fights. Sabre on Sabre, we fought what actually felt like a sabre fight. Lots of in fighting slashing and cutting. We ended up fighting right on top of eachother, Connor gut his sabre up under my thigh while I came up across his neck. After reseting for the double, he pulled sharp across his body as I tried to roll away from his sword and i caught it in the belly. I beat David next, if only by a few inches, and then lost to JC to round out my day. It was a great day and a lot of fun to see everyone and watch Celric fight for his White Scarf.

So, this weekend was Ice Castles, it went wonderfully. I fought my prize and was made a Free Scholar. Felt the Prize fights went well, much better than my 3-man fights. In the prize fights I felt in pretty good control. Got some great shots around the guards and a couple fun draws.

Then there was the chicken dance...

Thanks to everyone who showed up, I very much appreciated the huge number of people who rolled out to fight me. And many more thanks to my lady who made me look amazing. However, I did manage to not drink enough, and then drink some liquor, leaving me sick as a dog on Sunday, getting healthy just in time to watch James Harrison run 100 yards to stick a dagger in my soul. Football, for me, is an emotional discharge. And no discharge is bigger than the one that happens in February. Ugh, I do hate the Stillers (I shall take out my frustration upon you Percy, for you did curse the Cardinals!)

Great event was had by all. Also, if you are interested in serving in some capacity at Coronation, please, please, please let me know.

Spaseba;
Turvon

Hey, people.

Our place, Super Bowl. Bring your Steeler's Haterade. Leslie's cooking.

In Flanders Fields the poppies grow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.