quote:

Once before the season started, hope still holding us fool-hearted
Without any a worry, hardly wary of peewee kids of Baltimore.
Donned in costume, hard of hearing, still deafened by the jeers and cheering
I faced the children snide and sneering, sneering since I’d win for sure.
“They’re just grade-school kids,” I muttered, “appearing for halftime disport;
Only this, and nothing more.”

I don’t need replay; I’ll remember that blitzing pipsqueak defender,
And each of his drat team members who left me writhing on the floor
The child still was celebrating not seeing how debilitating
Was my femur’s awful aching—aching in front of Lamar—
Yes, the rare and radiant QB whom the angels name Lamar—
Lamar, rolling on the floor.

“Medic! Help!” Oh how it smarted! From the field, I then was carted.
“Wait! What Poe was this, that fowl masquerader who my likeness bore?
Curse these brittle corvid knees that nearly buckle in the breeze.
Curse you most young 23, my enemy for evermore.”
Heed these words from out my beak: though meek, kids raise mere games to war.
Quoth the Ravens “Nevermore.”