Brady With The Ball: An Elegy on the New England Patriots

The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the New England eleven that day:

The score stood fourteen  to thirteen, with little time to play.

And then when the enemy used the clock to help their game,

A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

 

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair, and the rest

Clung to the hope which springs eternal in the human breast;

They thought. “If only Brady could but get his hands upon the ball

We’d put up even money now, that the team would stand tall.”

 

But the Titans had the ball and their coach Mike Vrabel knew the tricks

And all watched in anger as he took penalties letting the clock tick

So upon the stricken multitude grim melancholy set in,

For there seemed but little chance of Brady getting in again.

 

But New England’s coach Belechick was a master at time-outs,

He’d done it so many times that few had any doubts

He’d manipulate those stoppages in such a clever way

That when he got the ball there’d be plenty of time to play.

 

Then from sixty-thousand throats and more there rose a lusty cheer,

It rumbled throughout Foxboro, it rattled both far and near;

It pounded the mountains, and recoiled on every hamlet,

For Brady, mighty Brady, was putting on his helmet.

 

There was ease in Brady’s manner as he trotted on the field

There was a show of confidence that the Titans had to yield.

And when, responding to the cheers, he went about his way

Every fan knew as in the past he would he would have his say.

 

Thousand of eyes were on him as he walked up to the line.

He acted like he always did, they all knew things were fine.

Showing his composure knowing that the goal was not far away

Less than fifty yards were needed for a field goal to save the day.

 

Defiance flashed in Brady’s eyes as he moved past the twenty,

A run here and a pass there he knew that would be plenty

He had one crucial player everyone  knew that he would call

But to the great shock of thousands, Edelman dropped the ball

 

From the stands jammed pack with people there went up a muffled roar,

Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore;

“He dropped the ball! He dropped the ball! He rarely did before”

But Brady was not bothered he knew there was time to score.

 

And errant pass on third forced New England to kick the ball

The crowd grew very silent, were they witnessing a great fall

Of the team that always won when at home Brady would play?

Yet they remained in their seats determined they would stay.

 

They believed deep down that Brady would prevail

It seemed in past times like this he never would fail.

Their hopes soared when the Titans punted back

Time was short, but Brady only needed one whack.

 

There wasn’t that far to go, they only needed three

Brady had done it before throwing a clever Hail Mary.

A catch by Edelman who would quickly step offside.

A field goal kick that through the uprights would glide.

 

Oh, somewhere in this favoured land the moon is shining bright,

The bands are playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light

And somewhere men are laughing and women friends happily mix

But there is no joy in New England –- mighty Brady threw a pick-six.

 

Apologies to

Ernest Lawrence Thayer – 1863-1940  the author of Casey at the Bat.

 

 

6 thoughts on “Brady With The Ball: An Elegy on the New England Patriots

  1. In 1988 the Mighty Dukakis struck out and there was no joy in Mudville ( Massachusetts) or at the Globe who created him. The question is will the old pervert Kraft pay Brady fair market value or will he leave? Will Brady’s decline cause a Middle East war? Are there any climate change implications here?

  2. A good poetic summation of the game, Matt.

    The Pats fell flat. Brady seems to be past his prime. But who knows?

    The question is, next year will we be reading a Brady version of the poem, “Casey’s Revenge”, wherein an aged Casey returns and once again saves the day? There was a third version, too, of “Casey at the Bat”. I read all three in a collection of American verse.

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