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Four years of waiting, for four quarters of football.
A night that will never be forgotten.
An anxiosness that will never be replaced.
The crowd is muted through closed locker room doors.
It's nothing but a waitng game.
Fully suited with our heads hung in thought.
A brotherhood sits in silence.
Thoughts race as butterfly's settle.
Our legs are weak, but strong with power.
Our minds are cluttered, but clear with passion.
It's a game with rules, but no mercy.
In an instant doors are opened,
And sound floods the room like thunder.
The team assembles two by two as if departing for battle,
And join hands as if to form one heart beat, one pulse.
A confidence is built with no doubt in our minds,
As we cross the threshold and enter "The Gates of Fire."