The (Baltimore) Raven

(By Chris, Editor in Chief of MyBriefs.com and the adult writer of the Gab Four, with guest columnist Edgar Allan Poe. Sponsored by 3 Spoons Yogurt)














Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over Baltimore's lost season and how their playoff chances were no more,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a yapping,
As of someone loudly flapping outside my chamber door.
"Tis some visitor," I muttered, "yapping at my chamber door.
"Disturbing the peace, so I may call the police corps."

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
With the Ravens having ended their year
Losing again, three of four overall, unable to attain
Or sustain the means necessary to win. And the playoffs were here.
Surely, this would not be their year,
For an early exit is what I feared.

Presently the yapping grew louder; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, if I may implore,
"But the fact is I was napping, and so you came yapping,
"Yapping and flapping at my chamber door.
"What is it that you want of me, if you wish to establish a rapport?"
And I unlocked my chamber door.

Open flung the door, as if kicked by a banshee.
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.
"I recognize you," I uttered at the one wearing No. 52,
The one whose season was through, due to a triceps he tore.
Standing at my door, the Raven began to dance upon my floor.
"What time is it? Are the dogs in the house?" he screamed and nothing more.

Then this linebacker beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the black arm brace he wore.
"Thou must be a maven,"  I said, "but surely no Raven,
"No Raven can so soon overcome an injury like the muscle you tore.
"They say you're done for the season, that you're going on IR."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marveled this specimen to be back so quickly,
Though his following statement left me face down on the floor;
For the Raven said knowing, of Father Time there was no slowing,
These playoffs would be his final showing, and after that no more.
"Though you've played 17 years, your retiring I deplore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

But one home game was left to be played,
Against the Colts, the team that called Baltimore home before.
During pregame introductions the Raven flapped, and after the game he yapped,
About all the tackles he wrapped and the faith his team did outpour.
"Victory means a trip to Denver, a rematch your team lost before."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Startled by his reply so aptly spoken,
His team inspired gave the Broncos what for.
Baltimore was faster, and befell Denver a disaster,
Which left the Raven quoting his pastor, Bible verses of yore.
"New England are the AFC champions. They find it easy to score."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

The Raven still beguiling my soul into smiling,
Won the game by tormenting the Patriots for four.
Then, upon Tom Brady's sinking, I betook myself to linking
Victory after victory, thinking the Super Bowl was in store.
"What about the 49ers, with Kaepernick and Frank Gore?
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

And the Raven still is flapping, still is yapping
Standing in the entry way of my chamber door.
And his eyes are still seething, his adrenaline still streaming
And his mind still dreaming of one more victory he calls for.
And I plead, "Will there be another Ray Lewis?" until my throat is sore.
And the Raven answered, "Nevermore."


Chris is a Waco, Texas, resident, Editor in Chief of MyBriefs.com, author of the book "Sports Briefs" and the adult writer for the Gab Four. Read more of Chris' solo columns here.
 

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