With apologies to Edgar Allan Poe, JJFozz, and actual writers/poets/intellectuals everywhere
Once upon a season dreary, while owners pondered, meek and bleary-
Eyed, thumbing through the ratings from the week before—
The Shield’s keepers, focused on accounting, were ignoring a sudden tapping,
As if some one gently rapping, rapping on the windows of the NFL office’s top floor.
“HOW MUCH HOW MUCH,” Jerry queried, “I care not for tapping on window or door—
Only cash and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember ’twas the eve of bleak November;
A time when football ‘ere not marred by BLEERGH cascading yellow upon the floor.
‘Twere the days the fans doth remember—vainly pining for a more exciting season to ‘member
Feeling my heart fill with sorrow—sorrow for the skillful games before—
For the games are longer yet shorter on skill, more commercials than play, when time is killed,
We fear this mediocrity will persist for evermore.
Each Sunday, Monday, and especially Thursday make us certain
The blend of ballet and hurtin’ that gripped us to TVs and pay full hilt
To watch a subpar product and not admit to find it all a bore.
Entertained not enough to push aside concussion guilt—
A repeated nagging feeling that we condone this shit—
The shield’s hypocrisy growing more and more
Far from that mentioned owners’ meeting, former players’ lives are fleeting;
And I, at home, in my seating, picture them drooling oatmeal from brains and bodies battered
Thanks to an NFL that made it clear their welfare did not matter
And only came a calling each time a TV deal or CBA needed overhauling,
The voices faintly screaming “cha ching go bash your head against the door”
Green over gray matter and nothing more.
Meanwhile the SHIELD washes the field with pink
And teams decide that unless a player really stinks,
Your wife or girlfriend or mother’s safety is worth less than the ink
It takes to print your franchise tag; so then I whispered, “Is it time to ditch”
“This sport I love?” This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “SONUVABITCH!”—
Merely this and nothing more.
Back to the television turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is a coin on my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Mute the Redzone just a moment and this mystery explore;—
’Tis an NFL city throwing away coins and nothing more!”
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a fart and stammer,
In there flopped a ginger hammer launched from base of men made wealthy in days of yore;
Not the least bit of depth or warmth did he exude;
But, with mien of man born with silver spoon in maw, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Halas just above my chamber door—
Perched, and tooted, and nothing more.
Then this ginger boob stared into the abyss, as if unaware of men or morals
Silently surveying with haughty confidence when suddenly my blood grew aboil
“Though you may be a puppet” I said, “you could answer me this,
You must care deeply about NFL ratings plunging into the abyss—
Tell me what thy explanation is for your fanbase growing football sick!”
Quoth the Ginger: “Kaepernick.”
Much I marveled this idiotic response from this ginger ponce,
His answer being more asinine than I expected;
For anyone without CTE can clearly see that a man exercising his views on bended knee
Does not even rise to the inane NFL criticism of a “distraction” when the NFL
Has paid more attention to pills to fix your broken erection
Than to hire competent officials, or independent medical staffs, or
Anything to make the fans believe that when an NFL wife opens an elevator door—
A true leader–Ginger or otherwise–would proclaim: “Nevermore.”
But the Ginger, sitting lonely on the ursine bust, spoke only
That load of shit, as if his soul did not exist.
He did not acknowledge the spate of 49ers
Chased from the game quicker than Trestman after minors
Rightly concerned with their bodies and brains no longer working
When their owner-employers are always shirking
Their moral duties, counting money and nothing more.
Meanwhile fans like you and I, are left holding the bag, high and dry,
As Jerrah and Kroenke and Spanos and Davis
Go to the taxpayer coffers screaming “SAVE US, SAVE US!”
With the next relocation or concussion or arrest coming on the morrow
As NFL widows–literal or emotional–are filled with sorrow
Knowing their partners may be penniless and brainless tomorrow.
But the Ginger stayed unblinking, not to blame for quality sinking,
Content in his conviction that his perch as judge and jury would keep cash flowing through his door;
Yet no one knows what doth make a catch–
Or why any QB in Cleveland collapses, the poor wretch
The NFL owners make no change to return to the glory of before;
Oust their Ginger? “Nevermore.”
Youth football numbers across the nation
Dropping far quicker than Josh Brown’s next forced vacation
Surely the Ginger must be concerned with this declination!
As parents seek to protect their children’s brains from sloshing more
Against turf and helmet and massive men bigger than before
They shall not even play in the corrupt N-C-double-A, nevermore!
Short weeks for Thursday “football” shitfests
Leave football warriors wounded and teams without their bests
“Ginger,” I cried, “why doth thee dilute the league’s quality
Thusly and with transatlantic play at Wembley?”
“The SHIELD knows best,” he cried. “Expansion is good for the game,”
Though we know the Ginger pursues only his own fortune and fame.
“Douche!” said I, “thing of evil!—dumber still, if goat or devil!—
Your arbitrary rules and 4 game minimum suspensions cast ashore,
Criminals unpunished unless on tape, and yes, that apparently includes rape—
Makes it clear that the players, you care not for—
And we fans, you make us jaded, tell me how you’ll fix it, I implore!”
Quoth the Ginger: “Nevermore.”
“Enough!” said I, “you are killing what we love!—won’t your cabal heed those you rule from above?
Football’s problems, although many, are easy to fix and cost not a pretty penny—
Drop the drug and criminal and domestic violence hypocrisy,
And actually protect those paying and playing now and before—
Healthy and happy players make a better game that loyal–and local–fans will pay for”
Quoth the Ginger: “Nevermore.”
“Be that word our sign of parting, you ginger fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Your ineptitude and ignorance darken this Halloween’s sacred door!
Each week we watch and cheer and mourn! Despite the SHIELD’S wish for us to fear
Our teams will leave if taxpayer coffers do not outpour; yet we will not watch football should it remain a chore.
Cut the shit in London, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Ginger: “Nevermore.”
And the Ginger, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
Paid handsomely to watch over money for those filthy whores
Who own the teams and care not if games are good or fair;
And so tonight as we watch the Bears take on those rival Norse
Mind thee that there is always a ginger, incompetent like none before.
His name is Roger and he is a national disgrace–for evermore!
Late getting to read these. Just great! I think my post-lunch slovenly pulse rate doubled!
Holy crap, that was amazing!
http://www.reactiongifs.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/good-job.gif
Can’t get enough… CAN’T GET ENOUGH
http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/epicrapbattlesofhistory/images/4/4b/Edgar_Allan_Poe_Title_Card.gif
Wow. You guys are amazing. I’m at a loss.
That was goddamn amazing!
I particularly liked the bust of Halas.
Outstanding.
http://giphy.com/gifs/reaction-applause-clapping-GBhju13tiVB60
http://giphy.com/gifs/applause-slow-clap-reaction-2xIOiAPXonois
I think that sums it up nicely. Hit the showers, kid, you done good.
\slaps BFC on the ass. HARD.
This is an excellent follow-up to “The Raven” from “Treehouse of Horror I”, because FXX is doing a Halloween episode marathon today.
Ho. LEE. SHIT.
That was FANTASTIC. Truly. Not a single apology needs to be made, unless you want to apologize for making me spit diet dr pepper all over my monitor when I read “Quoth the Ginger: ‘Kaepernick.'”
Outfuckingstanding, BFC. Outstanding.
Standing ovation.