FanPost

It's time to circle the wagons




We are under attack.

It's time to defend, and strike out with force from a position of strength.

I've got a wagon full of Kool-Aid. Next to it is one filled with apologies, another with homer cards, and finally, the empty bandwagon.

Nobody is coming in to support us; they're all looking at the fight from a distance and weighing the bad odds and outcome of participation.

But we are already here.

This is the Little Big Horn. This is Thermopylae. This, my friends, is David and Goliath.

We cannot run, and we should not run. There are some who will slink away in the shadows, avoiding the fight. There are some who will throw down their arms in despair.

But not all of us.

Some of us are too invested, some are too stubborn, and some are too proud. Some have hope, some have faith, and some simply believe.

We will stand, and we will fight.

And you, when this is over, which one of those will you be?

The planets and stars align against us, but some of us will be stronger than any force we are set against.

You want to leave? Go freely and of your own will. Watch us from a safe distance, because we will not be watching you. We have more important things to deal with.

For those who stay, stand your ground. We are stronger than they believe. We will not run, we will not abandon our home.

Churchill said, "Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts."

Have courage and take heart.

I leave you with the words of Dylan Thomas:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Cowboys ride Broncos out of town.

Another user-created commentary provided by a BTB reader.

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