The Righteous Order Disturbed
Gather round, my fellow fanatics, and brace yourself for a tale of epic proportions, where the impossible teeters on the brink of reality and all that is good clashes with evil incarnate.
In the age-old annals of collegiate athletics, there lies a tale so deeply entrenched in the lore of the sport that it scarcely dares whisper its name in the hallowed halls of the Associated Press. Herein, we delve into the enigmatic wisdom of the AP voters, those sage soothsayers whose foresight pierces beyond the veil of mere mortal comprehension, guiding the fates of teams with the inscrutable wisdom of the ancients.
It is said, in tones both hushed and reverent, that these venerable chroniclers harbor secrets of a covenant old as the game itself—a sacred pact with the guardians of the sport, decreeing that the storied bluebloods of Kansas, Kentucky, Duke, and North Carolina must ever reign supreme in the celestial rankings, lest balance be undone.
Yet, in the year of our lord two thousand and twenty-four, a prophecy whispered through the corridors of Iowa State University Athletics—a prophecy so bold, so blasphemous, that it dared imagine a world where the Cyclones ascended beyond the bluebloods in the hallowed AP polls. Such a world, the sages warned, would herald an era of upheaval unimagined, a cataclysm so dire that the very fabric of college basketball would tremble at its core.
For should the Cyclones usurp the ordained order, breaking the unspoken decree and ranking ahead of the sacred four, the heavens themselves would darken. A chill would sweep across the hardwood, as if the ghosts of games past had returned to bear witness to the unfathomable. In this moment of sacrilege, the very essence of the sport would warp, heralding the arrival of the four horsemen of the basketball apocalypse—Dunk, Defense, Dribble, and Despair.
Dunk, the first horseman, would shatter rims with thunderous ferocity, his dunks echoing through eternity, heralding the end of days. Following him, Defense, whose shadow would suffocate the light of hope, rendering the offense of adversaries as futile whispers in the dark. Dribble, with the ball chained to his ethereal form, would weave through the court unchallenged, mocking the laws of physics and man. Lastly, Despair would ride, trailing his brethren, ensnaring the hearts of fans and foes alike in a web of unending sorrow.
And as these heralds of doom galloped across the scorched earth of this new world, a fiery maelstrom would engulf the realm. Courts would crack and splinter, consumed by the infernal rage of a game unrecognizable. The skies would bleed cardinal, as if the very essence of competition itself had been set ablaze. From this conflagration, a new order would emerge, born not of tradition and respect, but of chaos and the ashes of the old world.
Tales would speak of the day the Cyclones dared to dream, a cautionary saga woven into the fabric of the sport, a reminder of the fragile balance that once was. Elders would recount the tale in hushed tones, their words a somber elegy to the beauty and tragedy of ambition unchecked.
Yet, in the heart of every Cyclone, a spark of rebellion would endure. For though the world might crumble and the heavens fall, the spirit of competition, of challenging the impossible, burns eternal. In this apocalyptic vision, a truth is revealed—not of rankings and titles, but of the unyielding courage to dream, to defy the ordained order in pursuit of greatness.
So let this ancient tome serve not as a warning, but as a testament to the indomitable will of those who dare to imagine a world transformed. For in the end, it is not the rankings that define us, but the journey, the battles fought on the court and in the hearts of those who believe in the impossible.
Thus concludes our tale, a narrative etched in the annals of Iowa State lore, a story of ambition, apocalypse, and the audacious dream of a ranking unbound by the chains of tradition. Let it be known that on the day the Cyclones ascend, the world may tremble, but their spirit shall soar, undaunted by the specter of doom, forever chasing the glory of the game.