'Twas six days before Christmas and all through the bar,
The patrons were looking like they'd been hit by a car.
Their Eagles were cooked up there near New York
The Giants had just gotten out a big fork.
With 8 minutes left, Manning found Boss
And the Eagles looked destined for a soul-crushing loss.
The score was a lopsided 31, 10.
It looked like a game between young boys and old men.
But after the kick-off, there trotted a man
Out onto the field, who thought "Yes, We Can."
His manner was cool, but so lively and quick,
His teammates all knew that he must be St. Vick.
A "Saint?" Even Mike might offer contention.
Still, what the Birds needed was divine intervention.
He called out the signals, stepped back in the pocket,
Looked straight down the field and let go a rocket.
The crowd moaned as Brent caught it, and got away clean,
A few seconds later; 31, 17!
The Eagles were back, just two TDs down,
They still had a shot at the NFC crown.
And when Philly recovered the on-siding kick-off.
Back onto the field came the mighty Count Vick-off. (Sorry.)
From the sidelines, Coach Andy, his red hair a flame,
Whistled and shouted and called them by name:
"On Michael! On Celek, On Peters, McCoy
On, Dunlap, On Justice, on Jackson, Oh boy!"
"To the forty, the thirty, the twenty, the ten
"Don't give up this fight! Let's score again!"
Another two minutes ticked off the clock
Another Vick run and another big shock!
With 5 minutes left, Mike sneaked in for a score,
In the land of the Giants; 31, 24.
The crowd in the bar was no longer grieving,
From downers to doubters to downright
believing
Now, time for the defense to hold for God's sake,
They bent and they bent but the Birds didn't break.
Back came the ball to Vick's capable hands,
And a small frightened prayer went up from the stands:
"No miracles please! Not this time around.
"No miracles please! Remember the hounds!"
But God, in his mercy, doesn't think beagles
Down here on earth, down the field marched the Eagles.
The bar was electric, the atmosphere cracklin'
Hope sprung eternal when Michael hit Maclin.
Up went a cheer from among the besotted,
An extra point later the contest was knotted.
A stop by the Eagles and they'd get the ball
But with so little time left, OT was the call.
The defense held firm, and Giants would punt,
It was the right call, but that dog wouldn't hunt.
Back at the thirty, Deshawn Jackson waited
the ball came, Jackson dropped it, and then... hesitated...
As Giants collected around him and fell
Deshawn hit the gas like a bat of out hell.
Turning right at the forty, another gear found,
He shot down the field, barely touching the ground.
With a shattering block from Jason Avant
(who won't be confused with Immanuel Kant.)
But Kant's masterwork, "A Critique of Pure Reason,"
Can't hold a candle to "The Block of the Season."
An extra point later, the Giants were done,
The Eagles were winners, 38, 31.
The greatest of comebacks the world's ever seen.
Except, of course one, you know who I mean.
So up are stockings, the trees, and the lights.
Up are the spirits, flying like kites.
It's into the playoffs, the Eagles are headed,
The Giants, however, their dreams have been shredded.
It was then I remembered how Santa stopped by,
To wish all of Rick's a hearty "Hi, hi!"
The game was still on, the ending in doubt
Still there was less about which to pout.
It was then he exclaimed as we exchanged glances,
"I've the Birds - and the points - and I like my chances."
No comments:
Post a Comment