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Wesley Hitt

(You'll want to sing along, and you'll need this melody right here to do it.)

The legend lives on from the Badgers on down
of the big lug they called Bert Bielema
His offense, it's said, never stirred up the dead
But thrives when skies of November turn gloomy.
With fat running backs, the backfields were stacked
Never once did he fall for the speedy
His methods rang true, and Nebraska they blew
Then the Boss of Johnelle showed up early.

His teams were the pride of a "Normal American" kind
Running straight up the middle and through you.
As the big coaches go, he was bigger than most
with new assistants on his staff every season,
Concluding some terms with a couple of transfers
Quarterbacks looked his way from the distance
And late in the days when he sought out some praise,
could it be Alvarez's shade he'd been feelin'?

Delicious smoked meats said "come home to me"
Thought he might have heard a pig squealin'.
And every man knew, and ol' Barry did too
that the Boss of Johnelle would come stealin'.
Bert had to leave and wore his heart on his sleeve
when the Hogs in the Ozarks came callin'.
When his new schedule came twas a truly dark day
At the list of the teams he'd be facin'.

When the Bama game came from the sidelines he prayed,
"Fellas, I'll try not to fail ya."
After two quarters played, his line did give way; he said,
"Fellas, it's been nice to know ya!"
The QB wired in he had Tides rollin' in
and these fine Hogs they were all in peril.
And later that night when he fell outta sight
came the wreck of the Bertram Bielema.

Does anyone know where the love of Saban goes
when the Tide makes you submit for hours?
The coaches all say they could have made better plays
if they'd followed their process more tightly
They might have scored or they might have shut down;
they may have broken one deep and made the fans happy.
And all that remains of his B1G ways
Is a tear in the eyes of Jim Delaney.

Malzahn rolls, Sumlin he sings
in the rooms of a no-huddle mansion.
Baton Rouge seems like a younger man's dream;
All of that Taffy in the distance.
And farther below Starkville is home and
Takes in the scraps that Freeze feeds her,
And the Iron Bowls go and the Spurriers know
that the Ghost of ol' Bert is remembered.

In a clear Ozark day in Fayetteville they prayed,
Stood and called the Hogs outside of Old Main
They called them each time for each run at the line
In the name of "Normal American Football"
The legend lives on from the Badgers on down
of the big lug they call "Bert Bielema."
"Alvarez," they said, "will leave you for dead
when the Boss of Johnelle comes a stealin'!"