Appleby College - Argus Yearbook (Oakville, Ontario Canada)

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had built the Argo of the stoutest wood, that sat and pondered who would best fit in the many spots and places to be held to make the Argos be the greatest team to ever dirty knees on churning grass or hold a J5V within their grasp. By advertising in The Globe and Star. they made it clear to all who would try out, that practices would start in not too long at SAC ' s Aurora campus, where the Argos were to form a mighty team and settle down, the season to prepare. And after Jason made three rounds of cuts, and like a farmer threshing in the warmth of ripened summer ' s weakened noonday sun, he flailed the chaff, then winnowed in the breeze to leave the kernels standing by themselves. O Muses, I am sure you know them well, those heroes who were chosen for the team - their names are now quite common household words, particularly as they all appear on T.V. ads, extolling rental cars, green toothpaste, soap and extra-thinned out beer. 4i 4c!|i)|i from Part IV The Argos travelled to the Chytan port that ' s on the island we call Montreal. and many Doliones, loyal fans, were there to greet them, led by Cyzicus, and gave the players hospitality. The Argos played the Giants, hometown team, before a roaring crowd which wanted blood to cover the Olympic Stadium. The Giants (who were once called Alouettes) just like the rabbit at a grey hound race or like a started bird which flees the tree, soon jumped to take a lead of fourteen points - the crowd replied appreciatively. O things looked dire for the Argonoughts, two touchdowns down in ten short minutes ' play; and watching how the Giants hugged themselves you ' d think they had already won the game. But Hercules, the Argo captain strong, was not about to hang his cleats up yet. and, rallying, the team renewed their strength just as a snowball coursing down a hill picks up more speed, momentum and more weight until it roars like heaven torn asunder, and o ' er the land proclaims itself like thunder. So did the Argonoughts their form recover that by the final gun it was a slaughter. (these are excerpts from a longer 15,000 word mock-epic.)

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JaUH and the f oHcu kU S CkfU Jkcmp PH For many years did Jason, Aeson ' s son, devote his time and studies to the cause of being master of that violent sport, where men, protected by thick pads and guards, attempt to smash and crush and thump and hit and bash and punch and kick and twist and wrench and maim and break and tear and squash their foes (unless, of course, they feel most fine that day and simply tear their limbs off in the fray.) The sport of which I sing is known to all ' tis none but you Canadian football. So guide me, Muses, that I might sing true of all that Jason and his team achieved in times before I to this world did come. Release the font of truth to this poor soul, as he attempts to trace their path through time. And tell how Jason sought the Golden Fleece for Glory, he who favours few and damns for the rest to die unknown in seas of grief. Please bless my venture, that 1 might succeed in writing this, my first attempt at verse. Calliope I ask to send a smile from quiet woods atop Parnassian heights, and cast a peace like murmur of the stream, which flows with mazy motion down the slope to flee its source - the pure Castalian spring. I ' ve poured the nectar of the bees, with milk upon the ground, so help me. Muses, with this story and the rhyme with which I ' m bound. Part III And so it was that cocky Pelias let Jason coach the fateful Argonoughts. And Jason, guided by a godly hand, set up the season ' s game plans straight away. To help him to design aggressive plays, young Jason hired Argus, mastermind of many football teams in Canada. This Argus was an expert in his trade, and with experience and football sense, he molded Jason such a clever plan of counters, draws, reverses, on-side kicks, and end-arounds and fast off-tackle plays, that Jason called these strategies his ship , and christened her The Argo, as a high praise to her inventor, the gifted shipwright, he whose work would turn the Argos right around, to gloried champions from a backwoods team. As soon as Argus and young Aeson ' s son

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Clotho Laughs s ' ' - By Richard Woolley •p David R. Woodhouse groaned and rolled onto his stomach. Sud- denly, as if from the very air that surrounded him, music crashed in, centering on his already abused head. He did not particularly like music at any time; oh, maybe a Ut- tle Chopin or Grieg in the early evening, but this was too much. Loud electric dischords with too much bass, too much percussion, and a singer who screamed at the top of his lungs something about Loov. Yes, this really was too much and at ... he pulled a dead wrist up to his head and risked opening one eye ... eight-thirty in the morning! David groaned again and rearranged the pillow against his ears. Unfortunately this had little effect on the noise; defeat was imminent. He threw the pillow to the side of the large double bed and surrendered. It was not until he had placed his bare feet on the cold floor that the realization that something was terribly wrong flooded his mind. He was hung-over, badly hung- over; every sense in his body told him this; but there was something else, something more. Slowly his eyes focused, then drew in the room around him. He was not at home, that was certain, but then where was he? The room was small and clut- tered. The floor was bare except for a tatty throw rug by the cup- board. It had been cheaply fur- nished with the large double bed filling up more room than it de- served. A crack in the heavy cur- tains let in a beam of yellow light; tiny incandescent stars fell and rose, changing position, inter- mingling, slaves to the drafts and eddies of the awkward room. It fell across the dressing table and landed silently at his feet. Carefully David stood up, the chill of the room reminding him that he was naked. A pile of clothes was by the dressing table. Pant legs had been pulled inside out in a fashion that suggested hasty removal. Awkwardly he put on his clothes, not bothering with tl e tie or his hair. ' What should he do now? David was just pondering this delicate question when, as in answer, the door swung open and a woman of some thirty years came in with a cup of coffee. Oh, you ' re up. I was just going to bring you some coffee. David looked at her and then at the coffee. His legs felt weak from the last night ' s over-indulgence. Er, thanks, he said in a flat tone, yet made no sign of taking the steaming cup. She was tall and flat-chested and her hair fell down to her shoulders in thick waves. David also could not help but notice that she wore nothing under her light blue slight- ly worn dressing gown. It had been tied loosely at the front and gave the impression that it would fall open any moment. Well, don ' t just stand there, she said with a true unflattering smile. I ' ve got eggs and bacon in the kitchen done up real special. She lowered her voice. I don ' t normally eat bacon, - can ' t afford it on what I make, but 1 keep it in for special occasions, and she