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It is against my journalistic morals to report on a game that I did not watch in its entirety, so I’m not going to do a huge story on the Eagles today. I’ll keep it real: I went to bed with ten minutes left. Someone told me that a guy named Hank Baskett scored a touchdown before the game was over? Good for him. I was already in Dreamland, sickened by the prospect of watching another minute of the horrid, masturbatory exercise that the Eagles call football these days. The fact that I missed Dexter AND Curb Your Enthusiasm to watch T.O. get his dance on in the Linc end zone made me want to put a five-iron through my 56-inch plasma (Full disclosure: It’s really just a tiny thing I got at Target). But like the immortal Oran “Juice” Jones did in his classic hit “The Rain”…I chill. And put together this lovely ditty to commemorate the Eagles 38-17 suckfest loss to Tony Romo and the far superior Dallas Cowboys. Take the jump for a very beautiful poetic dedication to our boys in green.
Oh how I long
For that bygone day
When our team had men
Who knew how to play
The Giants we’d stomp
The Redskins we’d maim
The Cowboys we’d crush
Sent packing in shame
But that’s just a memory
A vision in head
Replaced by these sad sacks
And Sundays I dread
The QB’s decrepit
Dude can hardly walk
All picks and fumbles
Another loss up to chalk
The coach is distracted
Perhaps by a meal
Or maybe by nightmares
Of a son’s next drug deal
The receivers are wasters
With hands made of stone
They’d need a revolver
To reach the end zone
Westbrook’s a player
With his desire waylaid
By the very small fact
That he ain’t getting paid
The D-line is horrid
But it could be worse
Could have given more years
To that old man named Kearse
The D-backs are garbage
Nobody can tackle
There’s so many holes
Can you please pass the spackle?
Oh, the special teams?
Please don’t get me started!
They’ll let you go by
Like the Red Sea just parted
Don’t hold your breath
Waiting for the big play
With Reno and Buckhalter?
No freaking way!
The kicker's an Aussie
Who really can't kick
When he steps behind center
A whole city gets sick
And what of the owners
With their standard of gold
They’re stuck with this coach
And his play book of mold
They cut our team leaders
With hardly a care
Maybe it's karma
That's left us so bare
Now we’ve lost to the Cowboys
And that jackass T.O.
Only strapped to an anvil
Could one sink so low
81 flapped his wings
On this cold, brutal night
More salt in the wounds
Of this team's lonely plight
There’s no coming back
It only gets tougher
A game against the Patriots?
Get ready to suffer
The season is over
So do yourself a favor
Turn the telly off
There’s more life to savor.
Image credit to flickr user Hans Voorn
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Brutal. Effing brutal. I felt less bad after the Super Bowl loss.
Making matters worse, the Eagles were beaten by the Colts and the Bucs Sunday afternoon on my PS2. Dropped passes, sacks, big plays going against the secondary -- it was depressingly realistic.