ACC Friday Night Magic then descended upon the stadium. The referees, normally hollow and inanimate things, sprang from their mossy fieldside beds in the shade -- the glow of a thousand bad calls swirling jovially in their eyes; their forms danced and flitted in the sparking and the lilting of the fae light that ensconced them betwixt two worlds. The midnight ritual had begun anew, as it always did, as if at the dawn of time. All the rapt participants eagerly awaited the knowledge of what things would come to be, what things could come to be, and, as always, they were greeted by the nymph song of ESPN. It called out to them in long and holy tones, but two words, "the worst."