By Eric Gettemy, Executive Editor
There are times in the grand history of sport where events simply transcend everyday prose and enter into the world of poetry. For me, this year’s Super Bowl fits nicely into that category. On Feb. 3, 2008, NFL fans of all stripes came together with the common dream of watching the dastardly Patriots lose. It happened. It was beautiful.
Tom lives with a monkey
It is Red, White, and Blue
Shipped straight from New York
Eli made sure it got through
Tom is 18-0
and 0-1 when it matters
A Super imperfection
has left him in tatters
Perhaps evil genius Belichick
who stomped off the field early
should tend to the monkey…
Nah, he is much too surly.
Although, Belichick should have known
the monkey was his fate
Evidently, he didn’t catch a glimpse of it
during Operation Spygate
State to state, across the nation,
talking heads said Tom would get number four
“He’s the next Montana” was the chorus
It turned out to be an insurmountable chore
Now Tom sits on the beach, inconsolable…
He watches Gisele proceed with her fanning
Maybe he should think twice, the next time
He overlooks a Manning
Even late, he went for it
Fourth down and all
He threw it as far as he could
only to watch it fall
To the ground, the ball crashed
NYC erupted.
At least the Lombardi Trophy
went to a team uncorrupted
And so the greatest team that ever was
became the greatest team that never was
in sixty minutes on a Sunday.
No need to look for the cause.
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