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Lincolnian Pie

Written at MOP 2000 by Yan Zhang

[to the tune of “American Pie”]

A long, long time ago,
I can still remember when Cauchy did all the kills.
And I knew that if I solved the test,
I could heal while I’d rest,
And maybe I could attack some drills…
But the Zuming, he made me shiver,
Had a message to deliver:
“AM-GM will fry it,
I suggest that you try it.”
I can’t remember my sad tour,
As I sighed and walked through through the Bancroft door,
I felt that I was suddenly very poor…
The day…the Cauchy died…

So bye, bye, those Mafia and Chi,
Titu’s lecture, Yan’s conjecture, and the guy who knew Pi,
And good old rookies, in a team contest tie, singing,
“This will be the test where I’ll die,
This will be the test where I’ll die.”

Did the dumb-ass method solve it true,
And the numbers vanished out of the blue?
If the magical coordinates told you so…
Can you look up for me the word “tine”?
Did you know about the Simson Line?
And can you do this problem with Cauchy…in one blow?
Well I know you got the best throwing aim
’Cause I saw you playing in the big game;
I know that you can
Jump and block that Dan.
Well, I walked through Selleck in that day,
Lookin’ for friends, and a frisbee to play,
When I forgot my self and jumped into the fray…
The day…the Cauchy died…


I dashed out of Zvezda’s lecture,
To work on the Morley-Barton-Something conjecture,
And frantically tried to complex number it in time,
But the problem was just too insane,
And all the Cauchy efforts went down the drain,
I wondered to God above if I had committed a crime?
The game of Bughouse was going strong,
Until Po-Ru traded his queen for a pawn.
I wondered what he was doing,
Until I realized we were losing—
The lost pawn just became a queen,
And my partner shouted for a piece in vain.
I suddenly knew Po’s Ruse can be a pain…
The day…the Cauchy died…


I popped out my Mountain dew cork,
And attacked the zero chicken with my fork,
As I pulled Ricky over to give me a hand.
“You are the Mafia!” never worked again,
As the villagers killed Yan whenever they can.
And there goes Yan’s lemma in Obviousland.
While Anagrams was played in Mike’s room,
In an inequality I found my doom;
I knew that I couldn’t
Use that Cauchy again.
Suddenly, I felt very cold,
Sad, nostalgic, and never again bold,
As the Silent Football players echoed…
The day…the Cauchy died…


So I was off abducting the Vets,
With my notebook and a Tiankai net,
Readying myself for inversion with a catch.
The Diplomacy game was hot in the halls,
In the foosball table, duty calls,
With Yian and David fighting an endless match.
The sun outside was going down,
My tired heart beat without a sound,
I felt I was going to die…
But I didn’t know why?
Maybe it was the blazing wings,
The frisbee game or other things;
Outside the window, a skylark sings…
The day…the Cauchy died…


I looked out as the days flew by,
Into this great big piece of Lincolnian pie,
While the Nebraskan sun in the blue sky shone.
Reid was in his room, writing one last line,
Ian was outside calculating the last sine,
And I’m sitting without feeling deathly alone.
Then the time came, to leave I must,
I sadly pick up the book, collecting dust.
I knew this was the end;
There was nothing to amend.
My heart was dying somewhere, close;
My coughing pills, I took the last dose.
I walked into the plane; my emotions froze…
The day…the Cauchy died…



To all:
This may seem funny, but was actually a piece of love in my mind. I’ll miss you all. —Yan


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