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Old 05-25-2005, 02:05 PM   #8
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A poem for the playoffs: Ode to Peyton

originally posted 01/13/2005

I'm about Peyton'd-out by this point in the week, but felt the need to write a little poem about the man whose name seems to be on everybody's mind. It's a little long and a bit on the weird side, but I had a good time with it and I hope you enjoy reading it.

Ode to Peyton

He began his storied run as daddy Archie's middle son
and from his crib he made a strong debut
He showed uncommon poise-- by launching rattles at his toys
when they showed him blitz, but he saw cover two

He idolized his famous dad-- a legend in the football mad
southern region of the U-S-A.
Instead of climbing trees-- he watched film religiously
and feasted on a full pigskin buffet.

And soon began the dream-- as the leader of his team
a sophomore star for Newman Prep's behalf
Brother Cooper caught him nine--which was a fateful sign
and that was Peyton's first game at the half

In this time he got a taste-- of all the records he would waste
some numbers that you thought you'd never see
He heard Ole Miss's shouts, but auditioned for the scouts
and he volunteered to go to Tennessee

At the moment he arrived the Orange rooters were revived
by Fulmer's headstrong Freshman prize recruit
His passes filled the sky once more-- and all the football pundits swore
He'd grind the SEC beneath his boot

'Twas there he rose to fame-- to the football world's acclaim
this QB with a cool and steady hand
His passes were like darts-- as he won most of his starts
and even led the Pride of the Southland band

But not all was pure as snow and it's fair that you should know
the Gators took a chunk out of his ass
Every year would start the same-- Peyton won most every game
'til Florida left him sprawled upon the grass

As so the die was cast-- each year nailed upon the mast
of the one team that he couldn't seem to beat
Down deep in Peyton's mind-- he would search but couldn't find
a way to taste that final vic'try sweet

With his future neatly graphed-- he then readied for the draft
prepared to be the greatest you would see
But before he hit the pros-- he recieved a final blow
when Woodson won the Heisman and not he

Then in April he was called-- with the one pick overall
and Coltland had a savior Indy bound
For the team that Johnny U-- had once worn the blue horseshoe
had annointed him the new king to be crowned

He was wise beyond his years-- in the pocket showed no fears
and quickly showed his mettle to his foes
No mortal protege'-- Manning called most of the plays
and to the lofty heights his legend rose

As opponents flailed in vain-- to stop this mighty train
this man that redefined the passing game
His teammates took the pledge-- Pollard, Harrison and Edge
the Lombardi trophy was their solemn aim

But like the Gators years before-- one team barred that golden door
the one team that he couldn't seem to beat
Each year a mirror tale-- and from Manning came a wail
a cry 'twas not at all like "Cut that meat!"

This team as you recall-- is the one that plays their ball
in a place they call Gillette in Foxboro
And the man that pulls the strings-- melting Peyton's waxen wings
Is Belichick-- as if you didn't know

At him they used to laugh, but he's a master of his craft
and Indy is the focus of his thoughts
He will watch the film on you-- 'til he knows what you will do
and he'll hatch a plan to tie you up in knots.

Now Peyton will arrive-- with a mark that stands at oh and five
seeking his redemption and his due
Captain Ahab had his whale-- Manning knows he cannot fail
fail to win the big one-- yes, it's true.

He has nightmares when he dreams-- starring Bill's defensive schemes
and his nemeses in silver, red and blue
He sees Willie coming free and in panic cannot see
which defensive back is covering who

Then he spies a mighty whale-- with a hide of ghostly pale
and he's on a tossing ship in stormy seas
That iv'ry beast that spurs his chase-- the only way he can erase
the bitter taste of what may never be

In this restless dreaming state-- Peyton prays it's not too late
and like Old Ahab holds his harpoon high
Is he at sea or Foxboro?-- no longer does he know
but he cocks his arm and then he lets it fly...........

On early Sunday he will rise-- and rub his bloodshot eyes
and wonder will it be his Groundhog day?
Only hours 'til his fate-- for New England lies in wait
and the Champions are standing in his way.
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