Fortify us, Sweet Siren,
that we do not cower at the utterance of this devil’s name: Buccaneer, a seaman without sea or vessel, landlocked pirate, turned hill and cave dweller, communal with snake and bear, blissful in barbarity, base to the depths dark as night.

And there, beside such inequity, teeters our prize,ever-glistening, warm to our hearts, a treasure rich, so loyal and longing, to return here, to us, home again where it, the Potter Cup, serves as a symbol of our triumph as men and women of promise and justice.

Beckon from within the Peddian, oh Muse, valor, the strong arm that wields edged bronze and directs the spirit, takes aim with ball and pierces the hopes of the hill tribe, that Bucs might know a fitting grief, that they meet with wrath.

Let Falcons bring just misfortune to Fortunato (Blair’s headmaster), let Peddians caste off scholar’s robes, veil tomorrow the visage of peace, to take on the eye and clench of triumph as gladiators, as victors, with the dawn.

And with risen sun, warm upon the soaring Falcon high above even the hopes of the mountain pirate, the gods, always ready to reward those with values, will bathe the bold blue and gold in the bright sheen of glory as they board vessels and begin the long journey north, where they shall look upon the fields and know then the place that their foes, painted savage-style, in navy and grey, will fall to the dust, tear-stained and hope-relinquished.

Peddian champions shall bestride Hampshire Field and trample underfoot the Kroner and Underwood grounds. The Buccaneer hearing Peddian footfalls will flee, for this march will bring anew his nightmares of the sea’s surging power, the very fears that drove Bucs to land.

Yet Buc retreat will gain them nothing, for they know, raptor swift, fast as Mercury,  Peddie’s Kakani will chase them down—as the Falcon snatches witless prey.

Blairbarian phalanx will unfold before Peddie might. Mayo, our giant, Herculean, shall plow Blair fields with Blair bones. In the days after this battle mountain babes shall weep and then kneel at hearing of Bellan heroics. Saylor will tremble when late in his futile struggle the gods grant him the clarity to know the Peddian general, Malleo, has done him in with more wits than brawn, proving to be an Odysseus before so many shameless men tempted to quench their hot thirst at our beloved Cup.

Ala Viva!