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District 11-2A Championship  

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  1. 1. Who takes this'n?



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Never said that hoss...but the Natch ain't backing off no smack talk either

 

It's all good. We already setting up a go fund me for y'alls offense since it'll be missing come Friday.

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You know if my sister was drowning and my brother was a Tenaha Tiger...think I'd rescue my brother first

Gilbert grapes mom won't sink and you know that.

 

 

Obviously your bro is not a tiger because you have no swag.

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Your line will fall before us like late autumn wheat. Your ballcarriers will fumble and falter. With each successive three-and-out, the first aching pangs of doubt will begin to creep into your conscience. As the hour grows late, the cold night will chill your heart at the realization of dashed hopes. The clock will strike midnight on your dream season. All in Tenaha will weep in despair. Mothers will curse the day their children ever heard the name of Overton. The road back to Shelby County will be a pilgrimage of lament.

 

And I will be there, watching from atop the pressbox. My laughter echoing above the pineywoods in shrill mad glee.

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Your line will fall before us like late autumn wheat. Your ballcarriers will fumble and falter. With each successive three-and-out, the first aching pangs of doubt will begin to creep into your conscience. As the hour grows late, the cold night will chill your heart at the realization of dashed hopes. The clock will strike midnight on your dream season. All in Tenaha will weep in despair. Mothers will curse the day their children ever heard the name of Overton. The road back to Shelby County will be a pilgrimage of lament.

 

And I will be there, watching from atop the pressbox. My laughter echoing above the pineywoods in shrill mad glee.

Sometimes 1 like just won't do
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Your line will fall before us like late autumn wheat. Your ballcarriers will fumble and falter. With each successive three-and-out, the first aching pangs of doubt will begin to creep into your conscience. As the hour grows late, the cold night will chill your heart at the realization of dashed hopes. The clock will strike midnight on your dream season. All in Tenaha will weep in despair. Mothers will curse the day their children ever heard the name of Overton. The road back to Tenaha will be a pilgrimage of lament.

 

And I will be there, watching from atop the pressbox. My laughter echoing above the pineywoods in shrill mad glee.

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