Once more unto the field, dear friends, once more;

Or close the wall up with our Dolphin dead.

In football there's nothing so becomes a man

As modest stillness and humility:

But when the whistle of war blows in our ears,

Then imitate the action of the pigskin;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,

Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;

Let pry through the gap of the head

Like the arm tackle; let the shoulder o'erwhelm it

As fearfully as doth a galled rock

O'erhang and jutty his confounded line,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful rush.

Now set the teeth and stretch the stiff arm wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit

To his full height.

On, on, you noblest Dolphin.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!

Fathers that, like so many Csonka’s,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought

And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your teammates; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.

Be copy now to Phins of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war.

And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in Miami, show us here

The mettle of your practice; let us swear

That you are worth your drafting; which I doubt not;

For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble victory in your eyes.

I see you stand upon the line,
Straining upon the start.

The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Tony, Jeff, and Bill Parcells!'

Thanks, Will...