The Patiots On The 50--Ode to Ernest Lawrence Thayler
This is a parody and ode to the poem "Casey At The Bat" by Ernest Lawrence Thayler. It is about The Patriots and the Superbowl of 2012. I deeply apologize for how bad it is.
The game was going okay for the Patriots that day;
The score stood 21 to 17, with a minute left to play,
And when they got the ball, and formed the offensive line,
A deafening roar filled the stadium and all prayed for a sign.
Few stood up, leaving the place. The rest
stayed in their place, calling their bookies for last requests;
An idea, "One good throw to stop the Giants; that--
that is what we want, even now under my wool hat."
But they only managed a few yards,
And completing each throw was still hard;
So everyone in New England in melancholy sat;
There seemed little chance for the winner to be a Pat.
But a few passes were completed, to the amazement of all,
And a run was made with one swift pass of the ball;
When the plays were viewed, the Pats were at the 50,
And the people screamed for the Pats to stop being thrifty.
From a million mouths everywhere came a mighty scream;
It went to all the city and echoed in children's dreams;
It bounced off the ocean, and into the great city,
For the Pats have won before, and they knew no pity.
Great confidence was in Belichick's and Brady's offense;
There was determination in Brady that didn't exist in the defense.
As the screams became louder, Brady took his place,
No one could doubt that the victory would be a race.
And the pigskin hurtled through the air,
and the Pats scurried around on the ground there.
Past the other players, the ball right past sped--
"I got it!" screamed the team. "Fumble!" the referee said.
The seconds counted down, and there was a horrible yell,
like the beating of the waves, resounding off the dell;
"Interference! Interference!" shouted the people in the stand;
But the refs wouldn't call it, and didn't raise their hands.
With a grimace like something, Belichick's emotions shone;
He increased the angry throngs; he bade the game go on;
The time signaled a few seconds, and the ball was let go;
"Incomplete!" was the call, and the fans thought that was low.
The final line up made the Pats tense in hate;
They glared with great violence past their helmet's grate.
And the countdown then starts, and center then let's it go,
And the crowed goes silent at the length of Brady's throw.
Oh, somewhere in this frigid tundra the sun is very bright,
Music is playing somewhere loudly, even though it is night,
And somewhere people are cheering, and the friends all say "sup?";
But there is no fun for New England--the Patriots have f*#!ed up.