QUOTH THE EAGLE (EAGLES vs RAVENS WEEK 2)

THE EAGLE

Once upon a Saturday dreary, while I gameplanned bleak and leary,

Over many a sack and curious volume of forgotten score,

While I plodded, nearly crapping, suddenly there came a rapping,

As of someone distinctly tapping, tapping at my locker room door.

“Tis some towel boy,” I uttered, “tapping at my locker room door –

Fear not, tis nothing more.”

Alas, will ever I remember this very black and bleak September,

As each desperate duck pass falls upon the stadium floor?

Longingly I begged that tomorrow, would not bring such sorrow

For myself and my teammates that follow – follow for poor B’more –

For lost cause and the pity, fell upon the city of poor B’more-

Shameless here for evermore.

For the unsure wrecking of our silky satin purple under armor

Shook and filled me with horrific terrors never imagined before;

For now, to quell the straining of my heart, I stood disdaining

“Tis some towel boy proclaiming entrance at my locker room door –

Some tardy towel boy proclaiming entrance at my locker room door; –

Fear not, tis nothing more.”

For now my spirits raised; yearning to be applauded and praised,

“Lad or lass,” I said, “My heart and soul are so full of dread;

“For the truth is I was crapping, when you so roughly came a tapping,

And so loudly you came rapping, rapping at my locker room door,

That I simply feared to meet you” – For now I threw open the locker room door; –

Twas midnight green and nothing more.

Into the green my eyes were straining, endlessly heart and soul paining,

Praying, dealing with the heavens above, like no other had before;

But not a dropped pin in the hall was heard, and my bowels began to gird,

The solitary sound was the harshly whispered word, “B’more!”

This I muttered and the acoustics threw back the word, “B’more!”

Twas only this and nothing more.

Back to my locker I was turning, my cowardly stomach still churning,

When alas I heard the rapping much more determined than before.

“Clearly,” said I, “clearly there is some woodland creature at the sauna;

Tis only some flora or fauna, for who or what is causing me to implore –

Please, my heart do not flutter, for who or what is causing me to implore –

Tis only a mouse and nothing more!”

Again the door was drawn ajar, when menacingly from afar,

In strode a majestic Eagle born from the city of brotherly love.

Not a peep left the beak of he; not one second of pause made he;

But, regally and silently perched above my locker room door –

Perched upon a bust of Modell just above my locker room door –

Perched upon it, and nothing more.

Just then the grand bird peered down and drew my mouth into a frown,

My eyes transfixed on his piercing eyes, sharp talons and beastly chest,

“Your feathers fair and wingspan mighty,” I said, “I shall not take you lightly.

Though my chances slim and future grim, and here you sit above my locker room door –

Do tell fast why, you sire, sit above my locker room door!”

Quoth the Eagle, “Phuck B’more.”

Staring transfixed on the awkward bird, to hear him speak such crude word,

Perplexed my mind and it gained no sense of comprehension;

For my soul was rattled, knowing that soon my corpse would be battled

For evermore by this staring fowl sitting above my locker room door –

This beastly fowl perched upon the Modell bust above my locker room door,

With such harsh phrase as “Phuck B’more.”

Still the Eagle perched merely, on the ancient bust, spoke clearly,

That phrase, as if Hell itself were in that phrase that he proclaimed.

No more than what he behooved, that not a talon was moved –

In my words nothing proven, “Other teams have flown here in the past –

Tomorrow the fear it will not last, and allow me to win as I have before.”

To this the Eagle replied, “Phuck B’more.”

Standing stunned my spirit defiled, by the Eagle I so reviled,

“Truly”, said I, “this Eagle speaks only Jabberwocky and nonsense,

Brought forth from some portly coach, who similar to a roach

Will not give us all reproach sparing me from his pass happy chore –

I fear that until the scoreboard can raise its total no more –

I will forever champion proud B’more.”

Yet the grand bird still peering making my eyes burn searing,

I threw my body upon a bench in front of the Eagle, Modell, and door;

Now my purple armor with crack, my soul near left me, turning to black

My wishes and desires gone with thought of what the menace had in store,

With what this unrelenting, vile, ruthless, pitiless menace had in store

When he plainly stated, “Phuck B’more.”

And here I sat, my brain perplexed, twisted from concaved to convexed

By the bird whose insidious stare bore holes into what once was pure;

This sad fact I sat pondering, but my mind could not cease wondering

For the bird’s gaze was thundering with only dread about tomorrow’s score,

My mind now blundering with only dread about tomorrow’s score,

I must resist the beast’s, “Phuck B’more.”

My soul determined that DOOM drew quicker, my lurking gut feeling sicker

Flown in by demons of his city’s southern region as hell spawn littered my shore.

“You dope,” I cried, “Thy coach has sent thee – but your Godless master will not be

Pleased with you due to what my fellows and me have planned for you in store!

Oh you have not the faintest notion of what we have planned for you in store!”

Quoth the Eagle, “Phuck B’more.”

“Bastard!” said I, “pawn of Hell! – are you bird or demon, you know well!

I know not if you are from the Earth, or some ghastly, ghoulish place impure,

From wastelands deep and despairing, you come to me foul and scaring –

At my locker with words faint, yet blaring! – We will defeat you, I am sure –

Shall I – shall I pray to Lincoln, nay! – We will – we will defeat you, I am sure!”

Quoth the Eagle, “Phuck B’more.”

“Bastard!” said I, “pawn of Hell! – are you bird or demon, you know well!

My God above will never allow you to run up the challenge’s score –

Tell me if it will be a fair match, will any receiver make a catch,

Or will your minions just latch upon my flesh and thrust it to the grassy floor?

Or will my champions block your advance and leave YOU underneath the grassy floor?”

Quoth the Eagle, “Phuck B’more.”

“Now this is your time of leaving, bird or demon!” I squealed near heaving –

“Get thee body back into the unnerving, fiery pits of the Deleware’s shore!

Leave no droppings and hasty with the wind, you filthy beast that has always sinned!

Leave me to recapture glory of year two thousand! – Get out from above my door!

Take your talons from my soul, take your might from above my locker room door!”

Quoth the Eagle, “Phuck B’more.”

And the Eagle, never flinching, is still perching, never inching

On the ancient bust of Modell just above my locker room door;

His midnight green eyes, calculated and cold, to the beast my soul is sold,

The purple armor worn old and cannot be used forevermore;

And my spirit now fully broken, lay dead upon my locker room floor

For I have yielded – indeed Phuck B’more!

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About Displaced Phan

Displaced Phan is a Philly Sports obsessive residing in places not named Philadelphia. Send Lager, soft pretzels, and Tastykakes.
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