“Twas the night before the Super Bowl, when all through the house,
Not a bleacher was stirring and peytonsurdaddy was sauced.
The uni’s were hung in their lockers with care,
Indy Lori thought, “Peyton’s glute must be bare…”
Bloggers all wrestled with their doubts and their dreads,
While Marked Hoosier’s LOLcats spelled poorly in their threads.
And 805 in his boxers and TheAngelsColts in his Colts’ cap,
Had commented 10,000 times and they’re grammer wuz stil crap.
When in week 15 there arose such a clatter,
One million trolls screaming, “16-0 DOES MATTER!”
Tempers flared like a tire fire with a great and mighty “WHOOSH!”
And with BBS calling everyone but my grandmother a douche.
Then with Painter on his back in the new fallen snow,
We brought palms to faces with an ashamed, “16-0?”
When, what before our wandering eyes should appear,
Jay16, unbanned, fucking up the New Year.
Coltsfan723, who had finally grown sick,
Threw both birds in the air and cried, “Up yours, ye pricks!”
Quicker than Gary Brackett his curses they came,
He cursed troll and noob, both one and the same.
“Now, Asshole! Now, Cancer! Now, Jetsfan, come suck ‘em!
On, Asshat! Your stupid! Fuck karma and then some!
Lock, stock and horseshoe we loaded them tall.
Onto Mayflower trucks and drove away with it all!!!”
As trolls before shake’s wild banhammer fly,
They won’t cite their sources, so we wave them goodbye.
So up to the slaughter the Ratbirds they flew,
And the Jest, right after got their asses beat, too.
And then in an instant I heard Lovin’ shout,
“We’re Super Bowl bound! I never did doubt!”
And before PTB could utter her Super Bowl wish,
SpazMo whispered, “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
Dia,dressed as an ocelot, from her head to her foot,
Did kick Spaz’s inbox with her fur-covered boot..
NYKings and Sulaiman jumped on his back,
Scoring one for the noobs when they kicked in his sack.
His eyes how they watered! his ass it was beat,
So badly Raheem Brock did make it a tweet.
His troll little mouth was drawn down in a frown,
Til’ off of his ledge he did finally came down.
The butt of a Lucky held tight in my lips,
I poured one more whiskey and finished this shit.
The whiskey I poured into my round little belly,
And buttered my liver like a biscuit with jelly.
I‘ll drink and I’ll type this Super Bowl Eve,
‘Til my spelling gets bad and Cass makes me leave.
With a flash of the keys and click of the mouse,
I’ll pray that the Saints the Colts they do house.
I’ll speak not a jinx and make not a bet,
With beer, brats and big screens, the day it is set.
And laying a finger aside of my nose,
After this last part I’ll stick to my prose.
They spring to the field, the ref blows the whistle,
And away they all fly like the down of a thistle.
We’ll cheer and we’ll scream, for tomorrow we fight,
“Happy Super Bowl to all, and to all a good night!”