Our turbans have been stripped. Our magic carpets have been abducted. Our 48-year Swami legacy has come to a tragic close.
But fret not, loyal readers, for our incomprehensible pigskin knowledge remains as strong as ever.
Yes, we are indeed back for another year to enlighten your feeble minds with our gridiron genius under the witty title, "PrognostiQuakers."
"PrognostiQuakers?" you may ask skeptically. "Who are they? They can't possibly be as all-knowing as the Swamis."
Well, you couldn't be more wrong. Mark the day down, for it will soon be known around the world, perhaps even as a national -- make that international -- holiday. Sept. 13, 2001 will forever be known as the day the all-mighty PrognostiQuakers were born.
Yes, we know, the Swamis were special. They could fly around on their magic carpets, peeking in on stumbling losers trying to masquerade themselves as non-Penn Ivy League football players.
But the PrognostiQuakers believe that flying is overrated. Who needs to travel through the clouds when you have the god of transportation right at your fingertips? Yes, we're referring to SEPTA.
And sure, the Swamis could foresee the future and predict football games with the greatest of ease, but the PrognostiQuakers have that beat. The omnipotent beings that we are, we hold the power to not just see into the future, but to create the future. We hold in our hands the scores to every Ivy League football game from now until the end of the world.
You don't believe us? Get ready, football fans and, of course, Marie, our SEPTA driver, for we are about to embark on a journey unparalleled to anything ever before.
"Where you going, baby?" Marie asks us as we arrive at the station on 40th and Market.
"The future," we calmly tell her.
"OK baby, that will be $2.00."
The SEPTA ride is short and surprisingly pleasant, considering the fact that our destination is 50 years away.
When we arrive at Dartmouth College in 2051, it's like nothing has even changed.
It's cold, it's dreary and it smells.
But then we head down to Memorial Stadium, home of the Big Green football team, and we notice something peculiar about the stadium... it's gone.
Searching for answers, we find an old, wise man sitting on a bench.
"Dartmouth football," he says laughing. "That term puts the moron into oxymoron. Dartmouth football hasn't been around since that year when they got outscored 987-2, the lone points coming when an opposing quarterback tripped over his own feet in the end zone."
In our quest for answers, we further discovered that every Ivy League team -- with the exception of our Quakers -- forfeited their football teams at various points between 2001 and 2051 for one very simple reason: They sucked.
That is the truth. Our omnipotence can never be questioned.
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