‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the secondary
Not a DB was stirring, their performance has not been legendary;
The o-line hung by the QB with care,
In hopes that no defender soon would be there;
Baker was nestled all snug in the pocket;
While visions of Lombardis danced behind his eye sockets;
And Vea in his ‘kerchief, and I on my couch,
Are not quite settled for another game slouch,
When out on the field there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my couch to see what was the matter.
Away to the TV I flew without a slip,
Grabbed the remote and saw a news clip.
The moon on the breast of the new-trimmed grass,
Gave a lustre of midday win to the mass,
When what to my wondering eyes did see,
But another chance for a playoff push for us to see,
With a little tweak to make the passer rushers quick,
I knew in a moment that Calijah Cancey was slick.
More rapid than eagles’ defenders the help they came,
And Bowles whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now, Tucker! now, Palmer! now Miller and Izien!
On, Jarret! on, David! on, Merriweather and McLaughlin!
To the top of the division! to the top of the standings!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away he is commanding!”
As players that fall before the wild Vita fly,
When they meet with him, are sent to the sky;
So up to the housetop their last opponents flew
The teams full of nothing, and empty dreams too—
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on my set
The running of each little Bryce Young step.
As he drew in his head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Anthony Nelson came with a bound.
He was dressed all in red, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with sod and grassroot;
A bundle of a fumble he could get on another sack,
As in this scenario the team is once again on his back.
Haener’s eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!
Haener’s cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as brown as a doe;
The lace of the football he held tight in his hand,
And the defense, it encircled his throws to defend the homeland;
He had a skinny face and an even skinnier physique
That shook when he got picked, it would be quite bleak.
He was sad and miserable, just like the other Saints,
And I laughed when I saw him, they are once again the Ain’ts;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know he wanted to be dead;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the Bucs hands; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, after a knee in defeat he rose;
He sprang to his feet, the refs gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard the NFL exclaim, ere they drove out of sight—
“Happy GameDay to all, and to all a good playoff fight!”
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