Christmas is almost here….

This is a story that is familiar to many of you…..

For others it may be your first time reading it

I sent this out the last couple of years and so many of you loved it that I decided to send it out again.
This story means a lot to me.

I like to think of this as our little College Football Wizard Christmas Tradition…

I bring you this story of the first Christmas I can ever remember

I hope it touches your heart and motivates you to help the helpless.

I hope you enjoy it and I want to wish you all…..

A Very Merry Christmas and a Happy Healthy New Year….

Enjoy….

CHRISTMAS ON OUTER DRIVE

It was Christmas 1962, when America didn’t have a clue what a Vietnam was
and most women were more concerned about which hat Jackie Kennedy would wear during the holidays than they were about world politics.

Even at the ripe old age of four this wonderful foster family provided by the state that was kind enough to explain to me that Santa Claus…
Ole Saint Nick to you and me didn’t visit children without a mommy and daddy.
Those were the “bad” children; that’s why their mommies and daddies left them with the state.

Made sense to me at the time; so, it goes without saying that my expectations were not very high this holiday season.

Imagine my surprise when Miss Connie, who lived next door in the duplex……
told me that she was “sure” that Santa was going to drop off a present for me at her house.
She would bring it over to me on Christmas day. What? Could this be true?
I couldn’t hide my excitement or stop talking about Santa’s generosity.

The whole concept of Santa Claus was beyond my ability to comprehend.
But yet, I was able to grasp the idea of a “special” gift created just for me and built by elf’s working at union wage at the North Pole.
Go figure.

I have been exposed to various family Christmas traditions throughout my extensive tour of state homes over the years before I had grown up.
However, this particular family enjoyed opening a variety of packages on Christmas Eve and saving a select few……Along with Santa’s delivery, to open on Christmas morning.

On this Christmas Eve I was a very disinterested observer.
Despite the fact I wasn’t going to get any gifts, after all it was pointed out in advance, that “taking me in” and feeding me was “gift enough”.
I wanted to speed up the whole process; move on to Christmas morning…..
So I could get whatever wonderful item Santa would leave me at Miss Connie and Mister Ken’s house.
Could you blame me?

I remember these events with perfect clarity, recalling the scents and colors of the scene around me.
I can recall the feeling of unbridled enthusiasm of Santa’s impending arrival and the personal torment of a child wondering what he had done to make his parents not want him.

But I need to get back to the subject.

Somewhere during the course of the evening with my foster family……..
With the sound of tearing wrapping paper and empty boxes mixed with the laughter of the adults and their biological child, underneath the shimmering Christmas tree,,,,,
I took it upon myself to commit the ultimate breach in Christmas etiquette.

I was entrusted with prior knowledge of a special gift intended for the master of the house.
As he ever so slowly began the process of unwrapping his “special” gift…..
He also, began the “What did you get me?” game, which I was totally unfamiliar with at this particular time.

I cannot recall if I was exasperated with the speed of the deliberations
or I was attempting to be helpful with the questions from the master of the house.
It may have been a combination of the two.
But regardless of my reasoning….
During the guessing game conducted by the master of the house with his “real” family,
I suddenly and without warning blurted out, “It’s a Tool Box”.

It was as if someone pulled the plug to the volume control.
I have never heard a room go from the bustle and excitement of Christmas, with the tearing of packages and all the electricity that comes with the moment….
To complete silence in a micro second.

I was now the total focus of everyone’s attention.
Which is never a good thing.

Total disgust from the gallery of observers was matched by the murderous expression displayed by the man of the house. He slowly stood from his chair, stepping over the remnants of packages and his “tool box”.
The only sound I heard were his feet making contact with several pieces of wrapping paper.

He made approximately four strides that seem to take forever to complete in my minds eye.
He bent slowly, until our nose’s nearly touched.
I can smell the spent Pall-Mall’s on his breathe and the sticky sweet smell of, what I now recognize as, Southern Comfort.
Daniel in the Lions Den had nothing on me……

Between clenched teeth he told me that I had ruined Christmas for the whole family.
To be honest, I had figured that much out on my own at this point.
However what I did not anticipate, which to this day baffles me…..
Particularly considering my highly evolved survival skills, is what transpired next.

He struck me so fast on my face with his open hand that I wasn’t quite sure that I had been hit.
However, all doubt left my mind when my buttocks and shoulders made contact with the floor.
I remember the embarrassment of being knocked down, as opposed to the pain of the blow.
It’s funny what you remember sometimes…..

I immediately rolled my body into a ball, in anticipation of being kicked and I wasn’t disappointed.
Fortunately, he was barefooted and didn’t put a lot into it, or use his heel.
After a couple of kicks in quick succession I was told to get up and go to bed, while the rest of the “real” family continued with their holiday celebrations.

Excitement overshadowed any pain that I may have experienced thinking about Santa’s subsequent arrival ….
And my gift to be left with Miss Connie and I drifted off to sleep.
I woke before dawn on Christmas morning.

I remember pacing frantically in my little room and trying not to wake anyone in the house.

I didn’t want to wait for Miss Connie or Mister Ken to bring Santa’s gift to me.
As soon as I knew they were awake I would knock on the door and inquire about Santa’s visit the following evening (I had a plan)

Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long for my plan to go into action.
Shortly after the sun came up I smelled two very important and familiar items that Christmas morning.
I smelled Miss Connie’s coffee pot and Mister Ken’s pipe.

Already, in my overalls, I slipped on my boots and quietly made my way out of the duplex to their front door.
Once I was at the front door, I suddenly lost my nerve and found that I couldn’t knock.
I was afraid of disappointment or maybe I was just plain scared, I really don’t remember.

Good fortune was mine this day…..
As I was turning to leave, Mister Ken; God bless him, opened the door…..
And said something about hearing shuffling on the porch, and invited me in to the wonderful smell of Miss Connie’s pancakes.

I soon found myself eating like I was going to the electric chair.
The exquisite taste of those pancakes, mixed with melted butter and maple syrup, washed down with ice cold milk made me momentarily forget all about gifts, packages or Santa.

Miss Connie and Mister Ken had already raised three boys by the time of this story and missed the sounds of boys in their house. I was always welcome in their modest home and felt warm and safe in their presence.
I don’t think I ever left their house when I wasn’t still chewing some marvelous delight prepared by Miss Connie.

While I was digging into my second helping of pancakes with Mister Ken asking me if I had seen Bart Starr and the Green Bay Packers on the television set..
Miss Connie interrupted and explained that they had found a gift with my name on it, under their tree for me this morning. Before I had a chance to finish chewing, she had set the gift down on the table next to me.

The paper and ribbon were magnificent.
I had never seen such a package.
Smiling broadly, they encouraged me to go ahead and open it.

With maple syrup on my face and hands I began to tear into “my” package.
I started pealing the paper, and next I broke the seal on the box encasing my Christmas surprise.

Inside the package was a plastic bag holding some one hundred plastic soldiers and the top of the bag was advertising the popular television program “Combat”.
There was an American jeep and a German pillbox in the bag as well.
This was beyond my wildest expectations!
I jumped up from the table hugging them both as tightly as I could and asked them to please thank Santa for me. I have never received a better gift anytime in my life.

I will never forget that gift, the kindness of those two people, or that particular Christmas on Outer Drive. In time, I moved on to a series of state homes, and Miss Connie and Mister Ken were to lose their oldest son Jerry, in Vietnam.

But this moment for me is frozen in time.

It doesn’t take much effort to create a memory for someone who doesn’t have much hope.
Take the opportunity to bring a little hope to someone this Christmas season, create a smile or generate laughter in those who need it the most.

Merry Christmas

Post script…

This story is for Connie and Ken who have gone on to meet the Lord.
Two sweeter or loving people have never walked this earth.
They provided a poor child with love and care that will never be forgotten.

MERRY CHRISTMAS 2011

RTR
MEB

It’s Hootie Snitch!

The Number Damn One Tennessee Volunteer Fan on the Planet!
Coming at you from the Heart of Volunteer Country in Baneberry Tennessee!

I ain’t been a writing cause I’ve been busier than a dog with two tails to chase.
I done finished up a “Christmas Special” for Dollywood called…
“Who Let the Clogs Out”

And….

I still got “Scooter’s” Bar and Grill in Baneberry and some more stuff I will tell you about later.

But we got to talk serious…..
Cause I am here to bring you the State of the Big Orange Nation Address

State of the Big Orange

If you ain’t a Tennessee Volunteer and if you and your babies don’t drool Orange then you might as well as a stop reading, cause this is all about the Big Orange Nation.

Now I know that we Vols ain’t been winning like we was when the Greatest Coach to ever win a Hot Dog Eating Contest Coach Phillip Fulmer stomped the sidelines, but that damn Lame Kitten done screwed us up when he was here and we is paying the price for that mistake.

Just look at this damn picture…..
You can tell Lame and them two idiots next to him ain’t seen the ball since kickoff.

Lame Kitten didn’t belong in Tennessee anymore than Mike Tyson belongs on “Celebrity Jeopardy” and he recruited some boys that were so dumb….
They couldn’t even spell football if you spotted them the “O’s” and the “L’s”.

I mean how damn dumb do you have to be to rob somebody in broad daylight wearing your Tennessee Vol’s practice uniform? At least Coach Fulmer had the good sense to tell them boys to wear a ski mask.

And that damn Athletic Director we had Mike Hamilton, I could have told you not to trust that goober pea. Never trust a man that looks like a Possum. Every time I seen him on the television he was always acting like he was a hunting a sweet potato, know what I mean?

We now got everything in place; we got us a good football coach and a good athletic director.

Remember, Rome Georgia wasn’t built in a day.

And let me tell, we just ain’t been bit by the “injury bug” this year, it’s been a damn plague.
It’s been so damn bad…..
Coach Dooley had to call some fraternity houses on campus last week to get a damn kicker.

So we Vols have had our selves a mountain to climb this year.

But let me tell you something and listen good.

Although me and that damn CFB Wizard don’t see eye to eye on the college football…
Or anything else for that matter.
I got to admit that ole boy is right about one thing.

We ain’t had no arrests this year of any Tennessee football players, not one.

I can’t remember the last time we didn’t have something going on with the Knoxville PD, the Knoxville Fire Department, the Tennessee Highway Patrol, DEA, ATF or the Coast Guard.

Can you?

Which goes to show you that Coach Dooley ain’t putting up with that kind of foolishness.

And I for one am glad and you should be too.

So let’s be patient Big Orange Fans

And let me say a few more things, about yawl that is frustrated and raising ten kinds of Hell about this football season getting liquored up in “Scooter’s” which is my Bar in Grill right here in Baneberry Tennessee.

Show your Tennessee Volunteer Big Orange Spirit!

To show my Volunteer Pride me and my bride (The former Miss Thelma Stroderback who is a hand model for the East Tennessee Tractor Supply and Fertilizer Store, jealous?) went and done decorated our house, hell yeah we done it! And we went whole Hog; we matched the truck with the house, that’s cool as hell ain’t it?

I will tell you something else. The Coaches we got now ain’t just cleaning up the football program, they is cleaning up the football players too.

Don’t you start a laughing about this neither, have you ever been around some ole sweating fellow that’s been a working and a sweating all day? It smells like my Mother-in-laws Tuna Noodle Helper Spam Loaf Casserole, which she is supposed to bring over for Thanksgiving this year.
I could damn near throw up just a thinking about it.

So let’s get behind the Big Orange this year Volunteer Fans, there is plenty of football left to be played and if we win the rest of the games we is going Bowling!

It’s like the sign in the Volunteer locker room says….

BELIEVE IT!

GO VOLS!

Hootie-Out!

It’s Christmas Eve and this is a story that is familiar to many of you…..

For others it may be the first time reading it

I sent this out last year and so many of you loved it that I decided to send it out again.

It means a lot to me

Call it our little College Football Wizard Christmas Tradition…

I bring you this story of the first Christmas I can remember….

I hope it touches your heart and motivates you to help the helpless..

I hope you enjoy it and I want to wish you all…..

A Very Merry Christmas and a Happy Healthy New Year….

Enjoy….

CHRISTMAS ON OUTER DRIVE

It was Christmas 1962, when America didn’t have a clue what a Vietnam was
and most women were more concerned about which hat Jackie would wear during the holidays than they were about world politics.

Even at the ripe old age of four this wonderful foster family provided by the state that was kind enough to explain to me that Santa Claus…
Ole Saint Nick to you and me, didn’t visit children without a mommy and daddy.
Those were the “bad” children; that’s why their mommies and daddies left them with the state.

Made sense to me at the time; so, it goes without saying that my expectations were not very high this holiday season.

Imagine my surprise when Miss Connie, who lived next door in the duplex……
told me that she was “sure” that Santa was going to drop off a present for me at her house.
She would bring it over to me on Christmas day. What? Could this be true?
I couldn’t hide my excitement or stop talking about Santa’s generosity.

The whole concept of Santa Claus was beyond my ability to comprehend.
But yet, I was able to grasp the idea of a “special” gift created just for me and built by elf’s working at union wage at the North Pole.
Go figure.

I have been exposed to various family Christmas traditions throughout my extensive tour of state homes over the years before I had grown up.
However, this particular family enjoyed opening a variety of packages on Christmas Eve and saving a select few……
Along with Santa’s delivery, to open on Christmas morning.

On this Christmas Eve I was a very disinterested observer.
Despite the fact I wasn’t going to get any gifts, after all it was pointed out in advance, that “taking me in” and feeding me was “gift enough”.
I wanted to speed up the whole process; move on to Christmas morning…..
So I could get whatever wonderful item Santa would leave me at Miss Connie and Mister Ken’s house.
Could you blame me?

I remember these events with perfect clarity, recalling the scents and colors of the scene around me.
I can recall the feeling of unbridled enthusiasm of Santa’s impending arrival and the personal torment of a child wondering what he had done to make his parents not want him.

But I need to get back to the subject.
Somewhere during the course of the evening with my foster family……..
With the sound of tearing wrapping paper and empty boxes mixed with the laughter of the adults and their biological child, underneath the shimmering Christmas tree,,,,,
I took it upon myself to commit the ultimate breach in Christmas etiquette.

I was entrusted with prior knowledge of a special gift intended for the master of the house.
As he ever so slowly began the process of unwrapping his “special” gift…..
He also, began the “What did you get me?” game, which I was totally unfamiliar with at this particular time.

I cannot recall if I was exasperated with the speed of the deliberations
or I was attempting to be helpful with the questions from the master of the house.
It may have been a combination of the two.
But regardless of my reasoning….
During the guessing game conducted by the master of the house with his “real” family,
I suddenly and without warning blurted out, “It’s a Tool Box”.

It was as if someone pulled the plug to the volume control.
I have never heard a room go from the bustle and excitement of Christmas, with the tearing of packages and all the electricity that comes with the moment….
To complete silence in a micro second.

I was now the total focus of everyone’s attention.
Which is never a good thing.

Total disgust from the gallery of observers was matched by the murderous expression displayed by the man of the house.
He slowly stood from his chair, stepping over the remnants of packages and his “tool box”.
The only sound I heard were his feet making contact with several pieces of wrapping paper.

He made approximately four strides that seem to take forever to complete in my minds eye.
He bent slowly, until our nose’s nearly touched.
I can smell the spent Pall-Mall’s on his breathe and the sticky sweet smell of, what I now recognize as, Southern Comfort.
Daniel in the Lions Den had nothing on me……

Between clenched teeth he told me that I had ruined Christmas for the whole family.
To be honest, I had figured that much out on my own at this point.
However what I did not anticipate, which to this day baffles me…..
Particularly considering my highly evolved survival skills, is what transpired next.

He struck me so fast on my face with his open hand that I wasn’t quite sure that I had been hit.
However, all doubt left my mind when my buttocks and shoulders made contact with the floor.
I remember the embarrassment of being knocked down, as opposed to the pain of the blow.
It’s funny what you remember sometimes…..

I immediately rolled my body into a ball, in anticipation of being kicked and I wasn’t disappointed.
Fortunately, he was barefooted and didn’t put a lot into it, or use his heel.
After a couple of kicks in quick succession I was told to get up and go to bed, while the rest of the “real” family continued with their holiday celebrations.

Excitement overshadowed any pain that I may have experienced thinking about Santa’s subsequent arrival ….
And my gift to be left with Miss Connie and I drifted off to sleep.
I woke before dawn on Christmas morning.

I remember pacing frantically in my little room and trying not to wake anyone in the house.

I didn’t want to wait for Miss Connie or Mister Ken to bring Santa’s gift to me.
As soon as I knew they were awake I would knock on the door and inquire about Santa’s visit the following evening (I had a plan)

Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long for my plan to go into action.
Shortly after the sun came up I smelled two very important and familiar items that Christmas morning.
I smelled Miss Connie’s coffee pot and Mister Ken’s pipe.

Already, in my overalls, I slipped on my boots and quietly made my way out of the duplex to their front door.
Once I was at the front door, I suddenly lost my nerve and found that I couldn’t knock.
I was afraid of disappointment or maybe I was just plain scared, I really don’t remember.

Good fortune was mine this day…..
As I was turning to leave, Mister Ken; God bless him, opened the door…..
And said something about hearing shuffling on the porch, and invited me in to the wonderful smell of Miss Connie’s pancakes.

I soon found myself eating like I was going to the electric chair.
The exquisite taste of those pancakes, mixed with melted butter and maple syrup, washed down with ice cold milk made me momentarily forget all about gifts, packages or Santa.

Miss Connie and Mister Ken had already raised three boys by the time of this story and missed the sounds of boys in their house.
I was always welcome in their modest home and felt warm and safe in their presence.
I don’t think I ever left their house when I wasn’t still chewing some marvelous delight prepared by Miss Connie.

While I was digging into my second helping of pancakes with Mister Ken asking me if I had seen Bart Starr and the Green Bay Packers on the television set..
Miss Connie interrupted and explained that they had found a gift with my name on it, under their tree for me this morning.
Before I had a chance to finish chewing, she had set the gift down on the table next to me.

The paper and ribbon were magnificent.
I had never seen such a package.
Smiling broadly, they encouraged me to go ahead and open it.
With maple syrup on my face and hands I began to tear into “my” package.
I started pealing the paper, and next I broke the seal on the box encasing my Christmas surprise.

Inside the package was a plastic bag holding some one hundred plastic soldiers and the top of the bag was advertising the popular television program “Combat”.
There was an American jeep and a German pillbox in the bag as well.

This was beyond my wildest expectations!
I jumped up from the table hugging them both as tightly as I could and asked them to please thank Santa for me.
I have never received a better gift anytime in my life.

I will never forget that gift, the kindness of those two people, or that particular Christmas on Outer Drive.
In time, I moved on to a series of state homes, and Miss Connie and Mister Ken were to lose their oldest son Jerry, in Vietnam.
But this moment for me is frozen in time.

It doesn’t take much effort to create a memory for someone who doesn’t have much hope.
Take the opportunity to bring a little hope to someone this Christmas season, create a smile or generate laughter in those who need it the most.

Merry Christmas

Post script…

This story is for Connie and Ken who have gone on to meet the Lord.
Two sweeter or loving people have never walked this earth.
They provided a poor child with love and care that will never be forgotten.

MERRY CHRISTMAS 2010

RTR
MEB

“To Be the Man, you have to beat the Man”

Saturday night in Atlanta at the Georgia Dome….
The Southeastern Conference Championship game….

The Alabama Crimson Tide didn’t just beat the man….
They took him behind the woodshed and wore his ass out.

Many of you were kind enough to email me asking my thoughts about this game

Here they are….
In no particular order

EDITORS NOTE: Please forgive me, it’s been a while

Some experts said before the game “if” Alabama could keep the contest close
The Tide “might” have a shot at playing the Mighty Florida Gators (again) in the National Championship game.

Some even claimed this game was going to be a “Classic”
I guess it was if you spell “classic” B-L-O-W O-U-T

But to be honest I felt good about this game
My confidence was not misplaced
Before the game a calm Alabama Quarterback, Greg McElroy
addressed his offence with this simple sentence, spoken in a calm, but excited voice
“Let’s go win a championship boys”

Then I saw the Alabama defensive player with eye black similar to Tim Tebow’s
It had a Bible verse on it too…
Ezekiel under one eye and 20:29 under the other eye
This Bible verse reads……
“Then I said unto them, what is the high place whereunto you go? And the name thereof is called Ba’mah unto this day”

No jumping around…
No screaming or flexing muscles and cockiness

Just Business from the boys in Crimson

The Alabama Crimson Tide limited the Florida Gators to “13” points for the entire game, Believe that?
While Rolling up almost 500 yards of total offense against the “Number One” defense in College Football.

Something else we all learned in this game….
Superman doesn’t wear “Number 15” as the Gator Nation would want you to believe

He has a “2” in his equation
Like say…
“12”
“22”
“25”
“28”
“62”

I don’t know if Mark Ingram will win the Heisman Trophy from this game

But I can tell you who won’t….

But the Florida Gators should have known at Half-Time this wasn’t going to end well.

In the Dr. Pepper Challenge for a Hundred Thousand Dollar College Scholarship…..
Two people were selected to throw ten footballs into an oversized Dr. Pepper Can from ten yards away.

There was a young man from Florida out on the field doing the “Gator Chomp” and saying…..
he was going “Ten for Ten” and then while doing the Gator Chomp felt obligated to yell, “Go Gators!”

The other young person was a young lady from Alabama….
that according to her “just learned to throw a football” and she said
“her high school football coach taught her how to throw it”

The competition started…..
And the little girl from Alabama that just learned how to throw a football beat the boy doing the gator chomp.

It was a sign of things to come

In the second half the Crimson Tide made Urban sweat and Timmy cry…

No moral victories, no fourth quarter comebacks
No matter how many times CBS Sports….
Showed replays of last years SEC Championship game

This was the Alabama Crimson Tide’s night

They simply dominated the Gators in every phase of the game…..
and now the Crimson Tide are the Southeastern Conference Champions
and will have the opportunity to play for the National Championship

I know this article will upset the commentators and sideline reporters from CBS Sports….
who have carried on a Love Fest with Urban Myer and Tim Tebow all year.

But I suspect they are still on the “suicide hotline” and won’t have time to read it.

Forgive me, I’m still excited

I will have more later on in the week…….
Including emails and other news about this game and the other games from last week.

But for now, I am still celebrating…

ROLL TIDE ROLL

MEB

In Alabama you have to make a choice…..
It’s one or the other…
We aren’t much for fence riders or folks on middle ground…..
And don’t give us that crap “how you like both teams”
You can’t, it’s impossible…
Saying that just makes you a wussy, or worse….
A damn yankee…

It’s the Alabama Crimson Tide and The Auburn Tigers

This weekend marriages will end….
Businesses will dissolve….
And the bonds of friendship forever broken…
All over this one game….

For those of you outside the state of Alabama….
or persons that may have been living under a rock for their entire adult life….
I will let you in on a “not so” little secret.

We don’t like each other very much

We tolerate each other most of the time throughout the year….

Our children will play together….

We attend Church and PTA meetings together…

On occasions we will attend weddings, funerals and even BBQ together..

But this week everything is different…

On the Sunday before the Iron Bowl…
I have seen parishioners move from their usual seats to the other side of the aisle….
until one side of the church is Tigers and the other Tide.

I have seen and heard a young preacher, who clearly wasn’t from Alabama…..
make mention that “people down here take their football too seriously…”

He and his family weren’t there the following Sunday……
presumably to preach at a place where they didn’t take their football “too seriously….”

I have taken my seat on one side of a school bus with a little crimson elephant pined to my shirt by a wonderful first grade teacher, while the Auburn kids took their place on the other side of the bus with a blue and orange “War Eagle” pined to their respective shirts and dresses.

We never miss an opportunity to make fun of each other either..

This game has had Bo and Joe and a Bear of a Man…..

It has had “One for the Thumb”

And Eleven in a row…….

It’s War Damn Eagle!
And…
Roll Tide Roll!

It has made simple terms meaningful like…

Punt Bama Punt!

And “The Kick”

It’s about Pat Sullivan to Terry Beasley

Freddie Kitchens to Dennis Riddle

Wrong way Bo….

And Coach breaking the record…

The Legends of this game live forever in the hearts of the respective fans

The wins are glorious and the losses are bitter as hell

Many people have asked me if I had a “Favorite” picture from my deployment last year

The answer is “Yes”, I do……

It’s about pride and bragging rights….

It’s about “us” against “them”

But it’s even deeper than that……

It’s so deep you can’t define it….
It’s just there right above the surface of your emotions lurking….
Reminding you even on Easter Sunday…
Beat Them….

Friday afternoon is not life or death…

This game is far more important than that

And for those people that may be reading this thinking we in Alabama….
Take our “football too seriously”…..
You might want to take your cue from that young preacher in my story above
and get out of town…This game isn’t for the weak of heart…
It is The Iron Bowl

Your Thanksgiving Picks will be out in the morning….

Click here to view the embedded video.

ROLL TIDE ROLL

MEB