Not a Baltimore Raven was beating his spouse.
The scalps and the slurs were all hanging with care,
And the war hoots of "Redskins" would soon be there.
The hookers were nestled all snug in their beds,
While gropings from Jerry Jones' danced in their heads.
With Sherman in dreadlocks and Lynch in his cap,
Were eyeing the media and dishing out crap.
When on ESPN there arose such discussion,
Which even Joe Buck would have called a concussion.
In the center of TV, standing there, tall,
It was lovely Tom Brady with a deflated ball.
The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow,
Would have calmed Tom Coughlin's nose to a less reddened glow,
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
Than 10-hours of pre-game, selling Pepsi and beer.
With a merry old driver, quite clearly from hell,
I knew in a flash it was Roger Goodell.
More corrupt than the Congress, the scandals, they came,
And like a blond on Fox News, he called each one by name...
"On O.J.! On L.T.! On old Michael Vick!
"On Farve, texting shots of his half-exposed dick!
"On home team physicians distributing meds!
"On Saints paying bounties for breaking guys heads!
"On Vikings, with prostitutes out on their yacht!
"On Ben Roethlisburger! Next time, don't get caught!
"On Brady, on Belichick, on profits, on loot!
"On Ndamukong Suh stomping heads with his boot!
"To the top of the wall, to the top of the dome,
"Whisk cash away, cash away, cash away, home!"
And I heard him exclaim, for all children to hear,
"Merry Super Bowl, kids! Watch, and learn to drink beer!"
I learned that big, beautiful horses and cute little puppy dogs love Budweiser beer.
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