Tag Archives: Football

How To Write A Superbowl Ad

You start out with a robot

That’s been made with CGI

Who says one beer is best

With no compelling reason why.

Next you strip the advertisement

Of anything resembling humor

So you don’t provoke the many

With an “I’m Offended” tumor.

Then say “We love social justice

“So you should buy our calamari”

With the sincerity of a five-year-old

When they’re forced to say “I’m sorry.”

The result’s an advertisement

To appeal to a mob

That hates all corporations

But still needs them for their job.

I hope next year’s Sportsball expo

Doesn’t try to be so “woke”

And the 2020 vegans

Are prepared to take a joke.

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Sincerely, God

There’s a billion folks in poverty.

A billion more are sick.

Every day a million innocents

Will fall for dirty tricks.

Homeless folks are freezing

And millions have no food

But you made a cross at halftime

So I’ve got you, football dude!

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In Related News: Sally’s Seashell Sell Did Not Go Well

If a player kicks a keeper

And the team won’t throw him out

Then you keep the keeper-kicker

And the kicked-keeper loses clout

But when the keeper-kicker seeks

To eat the kippers that he picked

He finds the kicked-keeper’s keepers

Had the aforementioned kippers nicked.

So the keeper who was kicked

And the keeper-kicker keep

Debating whether the kipper-nicker

Could be safely called a creep.

Meanwhile, the kipper-nicker

Reveals the kippers from his knickers,

Looks upon the bickering keeper

And his kicker and he snickers.

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Dear Not-America, Love The U.S. of A

Hello from America,

Where we play real football!

Our dicks are the same size as yours

Although you’re not as tall.

Our women spend more money

And our kids aren’t well-behaved

But we have free tap water

And most of our roads are paved.

We owe your nation money

That we’ll never repay

But we also have lots of nukes

So please do what we say.

Our politicians are all crooks

And most are wimps as well

But we pledge them our allegiance

And pretend that things are swell.

But speaking patriotically

Our country’s still the best

At drinking booze per-capita

And functioning while stressed.

Here’s how you can emigrate

From where you live right now:

Just walk to California

And never leave. Kapow!

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When You Can Watch Something Other Than Baseball And Golf Again

‘Twas the week before football

And all through the States

Everyone outside Boston

Came to terms with their fates.

So many Don’taes,

Tyrones, and Lamars

Checked if Wendy’s needed

Someone who could lift cars.

Meanwhile those lucky

To remain on their teams

Prayed the ACL gods

Would not ruin their dreams.

The fans were all cozy

Wrapped up on their couches

While the TV says who’ll be

The sleepers and slouches.

And a tenth of a billion

Mostly female folks

Didn’t see the appeal

Of tackling blokes,

Yet still two-hundred-million

Pulled on overpriced shirts

With the last name of someone

Whose whole body hurts.

They’ll sit back to watch

As the combat begins.

They’ll be happy as long

As their animal wins.

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This Losing Thing Is Underrated

At first today my heart was pained

By knowing every team

In the NFL I cared about

This year had lost their dream.

Then my brain switched on a light

And I did realize

Two teams I strongly dislike

Have to get hit by guys twice my size,

That excellence and victory

Brought them 4 weeks of extra pain

For a 50/50 shot

At a trophy they might gain.

And somewhere betwixt my brain and heart

I realized how futile are rings and crowns

And found new admiration

For the 49ers and the Browns.

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Gridiron

Gray steam rises from the sod

Obscuring the outlines

Of eleven men who would be God

If their teammates become so first.

The sky is darkness no one sees

Behind the lightning wall.

The crowd is warm despite the breeze

And bravado shields a heart’s true thirst.

A coin is flipped, a ball is thrown,

And bodies slowly shatter,

A ring is forever. A broken bone?

A pittance to the undying.

And so they fight, part man, part boy

So does decay commence.

They’ll either bottle tears of joy.

Or else just end up crying.

Here we see the warriors die,

Although they call it play,

Our voice is one great battle cry

To lend the few our will.

No longer are our swords so deft,

But fantasy’s alive.

Long ago the dragons left,

But here there’s magic still.

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