Fellow Buckeyes, the truth hasn't sunk in for many of us: our team just won the national championship.  It was a long and stressful season beset with many roadblocks, the kind that would have crushed other teams. 

Remember the Virginia Tech game?  Of course you do.  We had already lost our star quarterback and were still figuring out the next man up and we lost the game, figuring our title hopes had been scattered to the winds. 

In that spirit, I went to a quiet place and wrote a poem I hoped would capture what many of us were feeling in a fairly dark moment.

Guess what?  That dark moment was merely another coal thrown under the crucible that made this team so strong.  In that spirit, I thought I would reprint my poem; a work that began as a call to arms is now a part of our celebration.  (And I don't think too many people saw the poem in the first place because the blogs are a little hard to find.)

"Our Decision"

We feel the pain of losses large and small:

the Little Brother, Clemson and unranked

Virginia Tech.  Enjoy the sting, my friends.

Remember all the desperation Buckeye

Nation felt as seconds ticked away.

As hope transformed to frigid resignation.

As joy congealed to anger in our hearts.

Frustration is a higher-octane fuel

than confidence--it teaches more than bliss.

We're standing at a crossroads, friends, a fork

that splits the road we thought was straight and flat.

Let's make this choice together, Buckeye faithful:

One path is wide and glides us down a hill--

the better for cleaving into small and distant cliques

who have separate conversations as they descend.

The other path is narrow, trod into a steep incline,

with a distant hint of light that gleams upon

the vast horizon.  Let that sting give guide.

We'll take the uphill path, our shoulders touching,

united by our common birth and goals.

For he and she who I-O my O-H

will always be my family and friend,

an equal partner in the celebration

we will share upon the moment we reach summit

and gaze in unbridled joy upon the weak-willed

warriors whose hearts gave out below.

We may not get there this year or the next,

a thousand heartaches may be in our way,

but as sure as Woody cheers and weeps above,

as sure as Michigan's not worth a damn,

we'll link our arms, victorious, and sing

so loudly foes and allies alike will hear

we still defend the honor of our O-hi-o.