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Monday, December 24, 2012
Hangover: When Russell flexed his muscle

By DJ Gallo

'Twas the weekend before Christmas, when on all our screens
Most games were huge blowouts. Final margins? The teens.
The Eagles were losing, that isn’t so rare.
They hope that a new coach soon will be there.

Bills fans were rejoicing, perhaps on mood meds,
As visions of a top pick danced in their heads.
And Norval in his jacket, and Rex in his cap,
Had kicked off a game surely destined for crap.

When down in N.C., there arose such a clatter,
It was Raiders-Panthers: a game that just didn’t matter.
Yet away to the remote we flew like a flash,
To see if Matt Leinart could complete a pass.

Rex Ryan
If you didn't know better, you'd thought someone put a hex on poor old Rex.
A loss on the scoreboard gave the Steelers such woe
As Big Ben again threw the ball like Tebow.
It made at least a few joke, when the pick did appear,
That maybe old Batch should play QB next year.

There was an elderly coach, so angry and thin,
We knew in a moment it must be Coughlin.
More wild than Flacco's, Eli’s passes they came,
And he shrugged and he sighed and he cursed his own name!

“Hey, Victor! Hey, Bennett! I can’t throw when they’re blitzin’!
I closed up my eyes on that TD to Dom Hixon!
To the bottom of the race, to the rear of them all!
Our chances of repeating are getting quite small!”

As always, before the whole season goes by
The Cowboys they fail despite giving a try
Despite a great comeback, as they’re wont to do
We knew they’d still lose, and they probably did, too.

Then way out in Denver, far from the Dawg Pound’s woof,
The Cleveland Browns got destroyed by each Bronco hoof.
As we grew bored and channel surfed all around,
Green Bay scored another TD on the ground.

He was dressed in all purple, from his head to his foot,
He sought the rushing record, on his mantle he’d put.
All season long he carried the team on his back,
Withstanding each of Ponder’s picks and bad sacks.

His eyes -- how this they twinkled! His dimples how merry!
His muscles like boulders, his knee healed? So very!
Yet Frazier gave eight carries to Gerhart. What? D’oh!
Why he would do that, not anyone could know.

A clump of old gum Pete Carroll gnawed with his teeth
And his fist pumps encircled his head like a wreath.
It was the featured game on our Sunday night telly,
A game that made the Niners look ever so smelly.

His QB? A phenom, who is sized like an elf.
And Carroll laughed with each score, quite pleased with himself.
A wink of Pete’s eye and a twist of his head,
Let Jim Harbaugh know he had quite much to dread.

Carroll spoke lots of words, all his moves seem to work,
And he filled up the scoreboard, not caring who thinks him a jerk.
And laying another TD aside of all those,
Up the Rookie of the Year race Russ Wilson he rose.

Pete kept in the starters near to the last whistle,
Laughing ‘cause Harbaugh’s personality’s like thistle.
But we heard Pete exclaim, as he walked out into the night,
“We’ll win it all -- like at USC -- but done right!”