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Gameday beatitudes

Andrew Gastelum | Friday, September 2, 2011

When Touchdown Jesus went up on the mount he found a seat at the front of a giant crowd as his disciples First Down Moses and Fair-Catch Corby pursued him.

He then conveyed a story of great importance to the Notre Dame faithful, adorned in blue and gold and green, eager to heed his wisdom. He began with a few words.

Blessed are those who drape themselves in the bluest of hues, for they shall be an unmovable army by the thousands.

Blessed are those who travel on mule from afar (or by plane, that’s cool too I guess), for they shall leave more content than when they arrived.

Blessed are the early risers, for they shall be the first to reach the promised land of empty parking spots.

Blessed are those who roast beasts and fruits of the earth from their wheeled dwellings, for their labors will feed the souls of hundreds.

Blessed are those who meet at the base of thy gold-encrusted sparkling citadel in the wee hours, for they shall witness a spectacle of wicked mad beats.

Blessed are those who fashion a line outside of thou holy figure, arms outstretched, for they shall receive a warm greeting in the form of a bear paw high-five.

Blessed are those who sound their horns for the coming of the team, for they will lead the chants of the crowd.

Blessed are those who pound their drums, for the tremble of the earth shall be felt by their enemies, especially those in blue and maize.

Blessed is the jolly, diminutive green man, for the pot of gold he possesses shall be shared with all the faithful in straight-up W’s.

Blessed are those who lose their voices on behalf of the yellow flag that follows, for their defense shall receive thy bequest.

Blessed are those who shake their keys, for the key to a heavenly third-down stop is thou encouragement.

Blessed are those who are flung into the air by the denim of thy pants, for their joy (and subsequent fear) shall be everlasting.

Blessed are those who join arms and engage in a hearty jig, for they shall surely fall from the creaky benches of Paradise.

Blessed are those who fashion their fingers in the form of a K, for their bow of allegiance shall be rewarded with a no-huddle spectacle.

Blessed are those who welcome the patrons of the enemy, for not everyone can be Irish.

Blessed are those who mourn for those in crimson and yellow, for they have no perception of tradition, or class.

Blessed are those who light a candle, for their prayers will one day be answered with a crystal trophy.

Blessed are those who read The Observer, for their thirst for knowledge shall be quenched — until the dining hall workers take from thee thine newspaper.

But most importantly, blessed are those who carry the memories of a game day forever, for we are all inseparable. We are all ND.