posted at 12/2/2007 1:12 PM EST
I have a poem for tomorrow's game. It's a take off of Poe's classic, The Raven:Once upon a midnight dreary,
Belichick pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of lopsided scores,
While he nodded, nearly napping,
Suddenly there came a tapping,As of a player gently rapping,
Rapping at his office door.
"Tis some rookie," he muttered,
"Knocking on my office door:
Only this, and nothing more."Oh! distinctly he remembered
Comes the first Monday of December,
And each separate Pats team member studied their upcoming chore.
Eagerly he wished it Monday;
For this game would not be on SundayFrom game tapes Bill did study,--
Study for Baltimore,--
For the game to be played on Monday,--
Against a team in Baltimore,--
Winless here and evermore.
His watching of tapes
from the game the week before
Killed him,û filled him with anger his head was sore.
So that now, to still the aching
Of his head, he stood repeating,"Who the hell is knocking
On my office door,--
Some scared rookie seeking
Entrance at my office door:
This it is, and nothing more."Presently his anger grew stronger,
Hesitating then no longer,
"Player" said he, "or coach,
Leave me alone I implore;
I was studying game tape and gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping,
tapping on my office door!
Leave me alone, or IÆll kill you" û
here Bill flung open his door;
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into darkness Bill stood peering,
long he wondered but not fearing,
Doubting, fearing were what his opponents had done before
But the silence was unbroken,
and Gillette gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Baltimore"
This he whispered, and an echo murmured back the word,
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into his office turning,
all his hate of his opponents within him burning,
Soon again he heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said Bill, "surely that is something
at my office window;
Let me see then, who this is
and IÆll beat him until my fists are sore û
Pummel him and crush his skull until my fists are sore;
ItÆs the damn wind and nothing more!"
Open here he flung the shutter,
when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he;
not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of Tom Brady,
perched near his office door
Perched upon a Lombardi right near his office door û
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then the ebony bird beguiling,
BillÆs face was not smiling,
At the stupid purple uniform that it wore,
Purple and black and shaven,
"youÆ he said, æare sure no craven.
Ghastly, some ugly raven wandered from the Maryland Shore
Tell me what your name is while sitting at my office door!Æ
Quoth the raven, "Baltimore"
This maddened Belichick, angered him so plainly,
The birdÆs answer did have meaning û relevancy bore;
For we can agree that every single human being
Knows this raven will be crushed by the PatsÆ high score,
Another contest, another one-sided score,
With such a name as "Baltimore."
We barely beat those birds from Philly,
You, however, will look silly
With all those points our offense will score.
ÆNothing further then he uttered û
Not a feather then he fluttered û
Looking in BillÆs eyes the bird did shutter û a loss it knew like none before û
This Monday, the Pats will travel, and will put up an unbeatable score
And crush this raven named "Baltimore".
And with each Brady toss,
Landing surely in the hands of Moss,
The fans will weep and begin their exodus come the start of quarter four,
Beaten by the PatriotsÆ master
whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster points mounting more and more,
Another team will be defeated as the Pats win one more
Defeating the Ravens from Baltimore
Be it Stallworth, Watson, Moss, or Wes,
Brady has won with less,
This team will beat you on both sides with its allstars galore,
And BillÆs eyes have all the seeming
of a demonÆs that is dreaming,
Dreaming of nineteen straight but to the media he says one more,
One week, one game, one opponent, one goal, one more,
Shall the Pats lose û nevermore!
So the raven began a flitting,
not longer was the bird sitting
For he knew that he too would be crushed by the score;
And only mentioning spygate,
like the league, would seal his fate,
His fate like the rest to be crushed, defeated at the end of quarter four
Belichick and team will march on and on, running up the score,
Shall the Pats lose û nevermore!