I met a 4th line plug from an antique Dakota land
Who said: “Two flip-flop wearing legs of stone
Stand in the beet field . . . Near them, on the grass,
Half sunk, a snotty visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its General Manager well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that benched rookies, and played heavy vets instead:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Hakmandias, coach of coaches:
Look on my above averageness, ye Mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, expressionless and bare-footed
The lone and level fields stretch far away.”
-- Fred Shero, paraphrased