Yes, it was the autumn of our discontent. The Perfect Storm swept over the landscape like a purple-hazed shroud, casting the Big Orange nation into a wilderness of woe and deep depression. Oh, if we could only have reached the jar containing the magic dust before the driving rain and shrieking winds blew us into oblivion. The devastation was wide spread, from the white lightning stills near Sneedville, to a poor fisherman on the banks of the mighty Mississippi near Tiptonville who was blown into the raging waters just as he had hooked a 55 pound lunker. The re-building has been painfully slow, so now it may be time to call on those brilliant leaders such as Ray Nagin and SweetDiddioJamJockey HorseHockey to assist in the process. But on the horizon, could it be, no, not another Perfect Storm brewing. But surely Shirley, our special teams will be our salvation this time!

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