35 male Cincinnati Bearcats fans gather outside Nippert Stadium, wearing athletic shorts and loose-fitting shirts. They chat politely until they are interrupted by a thunderous gallop.
SIR THOMAS OF CINCINNATI: Good morrow, peasants!
BEARCAT FANS: Good morning, Coach!
SIR THOMAS: What strange armor you have chosen! It does not seem fit for a day of adventuring. An enemy will surely identify your forearms and netherlegs as weak points!
FANS: Um, there may be some mistake. We signed up for your Fantasy Camp.
SIR THOMAS: And a fantasy you shall have, brave souls! For there is much danger to be combatted and honor to be one in these wild lands of Ohio. Today, you will know what it was like to live, to love, and to fight in the Big East of old!
FANS: Will there be snacks?
SIR THOMAS: There will, but they will be of the sort a knight would have eaten in these lands long ago. We shall sup on Gravedigger's Porridge
and Vulture's Gruel
and then a spot of Highborn Pie!
So what say you? Will you ride alongside this old warrior today? Will you help me defend our village from invaders of the most foul var-oh, shit.
FANS: What's that screaming sound getting closer?
SIR THOMAS: We must have scheduled this for the same day as Schnellenberger's Wild Scotsman Fantasy Pillaging.
SCHNELLHEART: I WILL USE YOUR BLOOD FOR MY NEGRONIS TONIGHT!