The legend lives on from Kev Trahan on down
Of a head coach that is very yelly
The coach, it is said, even screams in his bed
When the fates of Northwestern turn gloomy
With a load of Wildcats, 85 fine purple hats
Seeds of anger Fitzgerald was sowing
But ol’ Patrick’s jaw was a bone to be chewed
When the Fleck of November came rowing.
The coach was the pride of Willie Wildcat’s side
An All American ‘backer from Orland
As big meatheads go, he was smarter than most
But the hits meant his brain had been blended
At seven and three their ten fans jumped with glee
At the prospects of beating the Gophers
Nine wins plus a bowl coach was on a good roll
Couldn’t be that he’d let them be loafers!
The tarp on the seats made liars of the belief
That the Cats were Chicago’s Big Ten team
And every fan knew, and the players did too,
That Coach Pat counted himself among them!
He yelled and he screamed ‘bout no fans at the game
Every week when his team took the field
When the ‘Sota came to town, maroon and gold were all around
Could the Gophs make the Wildcats yield?
When Saturday came, the northern rowers brought game
Coach Patrick was left consternated
Croft went twenty for twenty-four and rushed for 150 yards more
And Coach Patrick was left constipated
As the fourth drew to a close the ten fans left in droves
As they saw that their coach was in peril
And later that night when Rovell started to write
Came the wreck of Coach Patrick Fitzgerald
Does any one know where the love of God goes
When the coach screams his ass off for hours?
With a gaze that would wilt, the players wept with great guilt
As Fitzgerald used fat jaw super powers
As Fleck rowed away passing through Whitefish Bay
With a bowl bid now signed and delivered
That night in his bed, ol Coach Pat held his head
With the Fleck of November remembered
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