In light of Zug's performance against Michigan, I wanted to re-post, with some personnel changes, my homage to the Zug.

’Twas the night before Zugfest, when all through the stands

All the receivers were stirring, and warming their hands;

The helmets were hung by the locker with care,

In hopes that Saint Zug would soon be there;

The Paternos were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of blocked punts danced in their heads;

And mamma in her ’kerchief, and Joe in his floods,

Imbibed in just enough Rolling Rock suds,

When out on the field there arose such a clatter,

From a mighty chariot piloted by the infamous Vanatter.

Away to the student section I flew like a flash,

Among ghosts of players picking up trash.

The moon on the breast of the Nittany white outs

And crimson-headed coaching of superior wide outs.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a mighty Zug and thirty-three seven ounce beers ,

Dragging along ESPN fools, no longer so smug,

I knew in a moment it must be the mighty Saint Zug.

More rapid than eagles his teammates of fame,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, Ogbu! now, Odrick! now, Quarless and Moye!

On, Clarke! on Astorino! on, Royster and Lee!

To the top of the Beaver, to the top of the uprights!

From end zone to end zone under the bright lights!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, they easily whisk by,

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,

With the Zug in full glory, the football in full view.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard the crowd roar,

The mighty Zug did so easily soar.

As I clapped both my hands, and was turning around,

Down to the end zone came St. Zug came with a bound.

He was dressed all in white, from his head to his ankle,

And no name on his jersey, the opponents does rankle;

A cradled football he now flung over his back,

Staying wide open prevented a sack.

His eyes — how they burned! his biceps how mighty!

His legs were like fire, his staff slay Aphrodite!

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stadiums; then turned towards that jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, above Pryor he rose;

He sprang to his feet, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,

“Happy Zugfest to all and to all a good night.”