Team would be forgotten lore.
"Go away," I sharply uttered, to the seeker at my door
Just my brother, I was sure.
With one eye upon the TV, did I listen, so uneasy/To the tapping, turning queasy as the
Eagles sank still more,
Wanting to avoid the sorrow of the feeling on the
Morrow that McNabb had no tomorrow
In a town, where once adored.
IREACHED OUT to my pursuer, rapping at my chamber door/"Come on in, this game's a bore."
But the door remained unopened and, annoyed, I yelled,
"It's open" in a voice, now lost and broken,
Broken by the shameful score,
We had but one touchdown, sinful/While the Ravens looked quite win-full/As they picked off passes in full, each and every one that soared.
"We should change our name to 'Turkeys,' " muttered I to that closed door
Only this, and nothing more.
Still the door remained immobile, like our defense
Hardly noble, and our offense, barely mobile,/Limping, limping, 'twas a chore
Just to watch their aimless running,/Dropping passes, touchdowns shunning,
Nothing in this effort cunning, nothing we could rally for,
"They deserve the tar and feathers," shouted I to my closed door/As I watched the Ravens score. (Again.)
Halfway through the game I wondered, when we'd tear McNabb asunder
For his many, fatal blunders,/Blunders we'd paid dearly for,
How I thought, could we excuse him
Now we needed to abuse him/And to finally, FINALLY, lose him,
Send him to the Jersey Shore,
"Banish him!" I screamed in anger turning to my bedroom door/Yes I did, I did implore.
AND AS IF my voice could carry through the screen, they did not tarry/Donovan was benched and nary, nary a fan complained or roared,
For we knew that he was finished,/Lost, lethargic, flawed and blemished
Nothing left of promised greatness, greatness
That was simply lore,
"Come on in and gloat, dear brother, gloat with me, Mac's done for sure!"
