Continuing the Tupac-ain't-dead, here's another mixtape trend in beloved American literature, it was announced this week that a rediscovered manuscript from Theodor Seuss Geisel, better known as Dr. Seuss, would be published this summer.
It has been known for years that Seuss had unpublished works remaining, but what many people don't know is that, 3000 miles away from Seuss's California home, another author toiled in parallel.
The tireless scholars at Every Day Should Be Saturday have discovered one of his manuscripts.
"What Game Will I Win?", by Dr. 'Cuse
Forsooth, come young youth, and step in the booth
You'll hear a sad tale, a troubling truth
A sporting season you might find quite uncouth
The tale of the other sport played at Syracuse
No rim and no basket here will save our hinds
No Melos, no Waiters, no Jimmy Boeheims
It's a sport we're frankly not quite too skilled at
But come every August we cannot turn back
The ball is oblong and the season feels longer
The team treads in place while our conference grows stronger
Our talent base looks like a frozen dead wasteland
But if you're into that, we've got just the place, man
A schedule to be, it's dreadful to see
Twelve footballing games, twelve Saturday pains
I scratch at my chin, I ask myself when
A single of these games we'd find us a win
Les Miles's Tigers come raiding our Dome
How on earth did this happen, this odd home and heauxme?
A contest that we will most certainly lose
And when they leave town, they'll have drained all our booze
But wait! Oh, just great - we play at Doak-Campbell
Jameis may be gone but it's still bad just as well
The Seminoles' team, they're simply too fit!
By the third quarter we'll see their fourth unit
Perhaps but perhaps - we could lay a trap
A Clemsony Thing, a true Clemsoning!
They'd look far ahead, trip up on themselves
But deep down you know they'll do it somewhere else
North Carol-in' State, they weren't so great
Two years looking back, we'd beat the Wolfpack
But Doeren is fixin' what Tom O-B lacked
And the red dogs of Raleigh are clawing right back
You'd think we'd beat Pitt - they're frankly quite shit!
They're middling, they're muddling, they lost to the Zips
But even that thoroughly av-er-age team
Has beat us in ten of the last years thirteen
Losing at Louisville, Hoo-eyville, Tampa
Twelve games of twelve - each one there's a chance 'ta
Wake and the Chips, the Rhode Island Rams!
Every new week, we might shit our pants
Perhaps, and quite possibly, this just ain't our bag
The pigskinning schedule is not why we'll brag
Our roundball, our J-school, our grads will tell youse
Everything you've ne'er asked about Syracuse
We'll tell you it's special, the Yale of New York!
We'll beam and we'll boast and we'll bug you at work
And if you don't stop us, be certainly sure
Your intern from Babylon'll tell you some more
A lack of perspective's our prim'ry directive
Assure yourself rested, we think it's effective
If we can't beat the South in footballing true
We'll try to tell you about New York barbecue.