There once was a QB named Russell
Who out of Seattle did hustle.
So now I’m stuck
‘Cause the phrase “Now we suck”
In no way or shape rhymes with Russell.
There once was a QB named Russell
Who out of Seattle did hustle.
So now I’m stuck
‘Cause the phrase “Now we suck”
In no way or shape rhymes with Russell.
Filed under Poems
There once were some sheep from LA
And a tiger got in their way.
In most cases, the cat
Would go “chomp” and that’s that
But alas, that did not work today.
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The fact that football stadiums
Are filled with maskless faces
Who came to watch a bunch of men
Of many faiths and races
Hit each other for a ball
While chanting “Let’s Go Brandon”
Makes me think the world’s too good
To suddenly abandon.
Filed under Poems
When you drive to pick her up
And leave at 4:15
She says she’ll be ready in 10 minutes
But we the wise have seen
That when a woman tells you
When she’ll be ready is the same
As the way the measure how long’s left
At the end of a football game.
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Sometimes when you look at me
Wide-eyed, uncertain,
The endless doubt and weariness fade
And I hold your hand softly
And kiss you gently;
My whole ego becomes weightless
And I know that I have you
And I don’t deserve you
And I would die a thousand times
To be with you just an hour more.
Sometimes when you look at me
Silently, deeply,
I know exactly how your heart
Is full of warm Summer breezes
And hibernating mammals
Warm in each others’ embrace
Beneath a cold, uncaring world.
Sometimes when you look at me
Gently, longingly,
I wonder how on earth
A stacked team like Rams
Can lose to the freakin’ 49ers in primetime;
Then I try to look at your tits
Without you noticing.
I can’t.
This is what it means to be a man.
Filed under Poems
If you’re feeling blue
Because Summer turned to Fall
Just change your name to Brandon
And learn to love football.
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If marriage were like football
There would be no single men.
Every year they’d scout for wives
And draft a girl or ten
Then sign them to a contract
For a couple wondrous years
And give them shirts with numbers
And use them to sell beers.
We’d all have favorite teams of wives
Like the Ashleys or the Sophies
Who live in different cities
And try to win us trophies,
And when the best turn 40
(Or sometimes just 34)
We’d trade them off to other teams
And draft a dozen more.
If marriage were like football
Maybe life would be ok,
But instead it seems to be more like
The WNBA.
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Nothing like the NFL
To use their helmets to tell
That the one-percent lacks
Empathy for the blacks
And are violent towards them as well.
Filed under Poems
If you want the very best
Be a fan of the New York Jets.
That rhyme didn’t work quite right
And neither do they.
Filed under Poems
In Venice, the dolphins are happy,
Galavanting in the canals;
Some folks say that Covid is the reason.
The people of Miami
Have big smiles as well
Because their Dolphins might not play this season!
Filed under Poems