You clench your hands into a tight fist and with the heart of a tiger, you feel like you want to punch someone. But then you remember that you're not a tiger. You keep your cool. You bleed blue - an eagle, unreachable. You let the cheap offense pass and think to yourself: let the game speak for itself.
And last Saturday, a deafening cry erupted from the Coliseum. The archers have been slain and the eagles have solidified their position in their rightful place, above the reach of mere mortals.
But kudos to the green team. It was a well fought game. Their arrows sent fear into the hearts of the team from the Loyola Heights, but have not proven fatal. Maybe next year.