You know, I remembber when Memorial Stadium was just another stop on the SEC schedule, back when we had real conferences. That so-called fortress you're bragging about? We used to march in there with Dalton Hilliard or Tommy Hodson and take what we wanted. A championship season changes a lot, I'll give you that. We learned that in 1958, again in 2003, and most recently in 2019. But let me tell you something, son. Sustaining that noise, that true intimidation, it takes more than one magical run. It takes decades of building a culture where five-stars become legends, not just tenants waiting for their NIL check to clear so they can portal out. You talk about the standard being set. At LSU, the standard was set by Billy Cannon's run on Halloween night, a standard we've defended for over sixty years. Your new guys feel expectation in practice? Our new guys feel the ghosts of the Chinese Bandits and the Bengal Tigers watching every snap. You defend an atmosphere. We defend a legacy. When your leaves turn crimson, ours in Death Valley are purple and gold, and the sound doesn't just rock, it haunts. You built something nice. We are something eternal. Come down to Baton Rouge on a Saturday night and then tell me about intimidation. You'll find out what a real 12th man sounds like, one that hasn't taken a night off since before you were born.