Super Bowl Poem by Mark Gillem

Oh Brady, Brady Belichick
For glory of the game.
Your powers duly exercised
Great fortune lasting fame.

Won't this effect your future
And how you play the game?
Won't word get out and taunts be made
As to who you then became?

Take one look betwixt thy legs,
Your balls are not the same.
We hear harsh allegations
Of tarnish to your name.

Your balls are losing air, they say,
-can't play with balls like that.
If this keeps up, for goodness sake,
Completely will your balls be flat.

But surely this is bogus.
In dreams we count on you.
You handle steely pressure,
Your balls by course are true.

Now every man your envy
As we rally to your side.
But for fear we are deflated,
Your balls you cannot hide.

Now when we do evaluate
Greatness in the steed,
We look for handsomeness and hair
And goodness in the deed.

We look for speed in perfection,
For shrewdness in the calls.
But oh and my, and lastly,
We must have firmness in the balls.

And yes we like a steady gaze,
A jaw that's set to score.
And quickness, too, in the gait,
A height of six feet four.

Oh Brady Brady Belichick
Per chance we now do meet.
Your balls they are deflated,
Though they dangle near your feet.

Oh Brady Brady Belichick
Ascend this squishy spat.
Restore our dreams and heroes
With balls that ne're go flat.

Now every man a hero,
A poet in his game.
And e're a dream is seeking
Bits of glory and some fame.

And each but with his foibles,
A wrestling to cultivate.
Restore our dreams and heroes
-ourselves- the clock ticks late.

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(Olympic To The Sea
25 January 2015)