Back Up, Oorah: Fantasy Frenzy

Letra

[INTRO — SLOW, DARK PIANO] Yeah… Ain’t this what we waited all summer for? Draft day was dreams. Then Sunday brought the nightmares. Xtr-Ordinary. Let’s go. [VERSE 1 — SLOW, CONTROLLED] Doctor G came back with the crown sitting proud, One-seventy-two, had the champ talking loud. Marvin gave him four, G cut him without warning, District office restructuring first thing Tuesday morning. V-Dog dropped one-thirty-seven and still got cooked, First meat he’s touched in years, Doctor G had him shook. Steve dropped one-sixty-six, left thirty-two on the bench, Ted Lasso on the sideline like, “Believe in the depth.” Tiffany asked for Moore, Darnold gave her less, Admin called the 12th Man, “Report to my office, this is a mess.” Stafford gave Big Daddy four, Bijan came with the meds, Nurse looked at that lineup, “Get this motherfucker a bed.” Turtle had Pitts with zero, defense minus four, Chris was herding turtles all across that scoreboard. Allen came strapped, thirty-five on the call, Semper yelled OORAH, whole damn roster yelled AWOL. Principal had a game plan, Walker came ready, McLaurin gave him three — BACK UP, BACK UP, TERRY! PUT IT IN REVERSE! Mike came with Lamar, Taylor, Olave — respect, Took down the Commish, now he feeling like a threat. One week into the season — boy, don’t peak yet. Gibbs dropped thirty-three, had the Commish feeling nice, Bo Nix gave me five — should’ve known that shit had a price. [BUILD — DRUMS CREEPING IN] Kaelon Black hit waivers, G threw ten on the name, Tony came with five, couldn’t get in the game. Sneaky switched lanes, no time for rejection, Works maintenance — started ordering replacements. Vele, Gesicki, Tony loading the rack, Turtle threw a dollar — Chris, you ain’t getting shit with that. Mr. U pouring shots, coffee running on tap, Cup full of caffeine, roster still decaf. [DRUMS CUT] Week One finished. Turn that page. Because Week Two— [BEAT SWITCH — HARD] SEMPER! FORTY-ONE, KICKED DOWN THE DOOR! STUDENT TEACHER ON A PRINCIPAL — OORAH! Now we live, Week Two, let the whole thing breathe, Everybody got a strategy till Sunday disagrees. Projections got you favored, that’s cute on the screen, Then your flex drops four while your bench drops twenty-three. Everybody got a steal, everybody got a sleeper, Everybody swears their draft board went deeper. Everybody drafted winners, ain’t nobody draft wrong, Till that questionable tag turns to OUT before dawn. Waiver wire moving like somebody yelled free, FAAB getting tossed at a third-string RB. Bid twenty on Tuesday, by Sunday he’s RB three, Then the dude you dropped goes off— THAT’S FANTASY. Trade hit the phone, man, I know that ain’t serious, Two bench wideouts for my starter? You delirious. Add another throw-in like the offer getting sweeter, Keep stacking up your trash, it don’t turn into a keeper. Staring at the app while you’re out getting food, Family trying to talk, you refreshing for news. Touchdown called back, flag sitting on the field, Whole group chat laughing while you’re waiting on appeal. Sunday night lead getting smaller each drive, Up thirty at dinner, barely up five. One player left Monday, now you’re doing the math, Need twelve-point-three— And he catches one pass. That’s pain. That’s the league. That’s why we’re back. Nine years deep and we still talking trash, Degrees on the wall but that don’t mean jack. Grown adults with careers, still watching that app, One garbage-time touchdown got the whole group chat mad. [FLOW ACCELERATES] Principals making moves they wouldn’t approve, Admin reaching early, counselors losing their cool. Nurses need nurses when the injury news drops, Maintenance can’t save you when the depth chart locks. Student teacher yelling— OORAH! Commish stirring the pot. No seniority here when you’re chasing that top. Last year’s trophy don’t put points in the bank, No title, no tenure, no pulling your rank. Twelve teams came in, everybody got plans, But when Monday night ends— Only one gets champ. [FINAL RUN — FAST] Sunday morning. RedZone jumping. Phones buzzing. Group chat moving. Lineup locked. Too late. Should’ve started him? Too bad. Should’ve benched him? Too late. Thought you had it? CHECK AGAIN. Thought it was over? CHECK AGAIN. Monday night got a funny way of making grown men bargain with a kicker. Nine years. Same league. Same trophy. New problems. League of Xtr-Ordinary Educators. WEEK TWO. OORAH!