Hoddy toddy? Doilies and chafing dishes at a tailgate? What the hell is that all about son? This ain't some kind of church picnic, this is a damn football game.
The dream season has become a nightmare, well Stone Cold ain't about to let you boys wake up. You wanna talk about how the past is alive? You want to talk about tradition? You haven't won a damn thing in 50 years.
I think you're completely pathetic.
You think I care about open flames or open containers? About designer dress codes? You can take your Southern Marsh and your stupid little sunglass straps and your boat shoes and you can just SIT THERE with that stupid look on your face while Stone Cold does what he does best, and whips your ass up and down the football field.
Goshamighty? Who the hell are we? You know I don't really give a damn who or what at Ole Miss is. Replace that little m with a p for all I care. I ain't Memphis, and I doin' no Gator chomp, and I've got two weeks of frustration to take out on your ass.
Do I look like a man that has time to eat chicken fingers and drink champagne under a tent?
Ole Miss, Steve Austin only has time to do two things, and that's stomp a mudhole in your ass and then walk that sombitch dry.
So when you crawl back to your little fraternnity house, and you look that homecoming date in the eye, you will know, beyond all shadow of a doubt that you just can't cut it anymore. That you were beaten by a better man. By a better program.
And you will be beaten.
And that's the bottom line, 'cause Stone Cold said so.