August is anticipation.
The heat from a feverish nation.
My withdrawal is ending, the fever is pitched;
Off-season so long I was starting to twitch;
Excitement so static, we all start to itch
To witness man’s greatest creation.
Revere its immaculate design.
So perfect it must be divine.
When the season is here, it’s all I think of;
The ball, when in flight, is a beautiful dove;
It’s hard to describe the extent of my love
For this seasonal mistress of mine.
I love the game just like Brett Favre-a.
I’ve been watching since I was a larva.
It’s easily the best time of the entire year;
Just give me a tailgate with red meat and beer;
No one is more happy that football is here
Without it, I think I would starve-a.
No barrier can stall my devotion.
This granter of such sweet emotion.
I’ll always be there, whether rain, hail, or sunny;
There’s nothing quite like it, at least for my money;
Just give me the game where the ball bounces funny
It’s football, the pearl of my ocean.
It’s a beautiful, elegant game.
To compare them, the others are lame.
You can use your hands, you don’t always kick;
You don’t hit a ball or a puck with a stick;
No hoop with a net and no driving cars quick
So superior it’s almost a shame.
I think now it’s clear I’m enthralled
With this perfect elliptical ball.
I often have dreams of iron-like grids;
If my wife ever says that this game she forbids;
I guess I’ll just have to leave her and the kids
At least for the winter and fall.
There are many times when I have cried
Watching helmeted warriors collide.
Seeing LT’s Tear Drop delivered with class;
Or Merriman’s Lights Out when he breaks you like glass;
Give T.O. a Sharpie to sign on my ass
Right after my quarterback slide.
I root for my favorite team.
I do more than holler and scream.
I go to away games and soil their stands;
I rape all their mascots and pillage their lands;
I tear out their eyes and cut off their hands
And none of this seems too extreme.
If we suffered a nuclear war.
And a game was on just before.
After several days I’d emerge from the rubble;
With some cuts and some bruises and some Tom Brady stubble;
Whoever did bomb me will sure be in trouble
If I can’t find the final score.
When it’s on, it’s got me like glue.
This confession is long overdue.
I’m a fan through and through, it’s really that simple;
My heart just might burst like a big ripened pimple;
I’d even make love to Brady’s chin dimple
To prove that my love is true.
I cheer like I’m ravingly mad.
With pom-poms and scantily clad.
I can proudly say this, I won’t even blush;
I apparently have a Tom Brady man crush;
One touch to his lips, and I softly say “hush”
How I wish I could be his thigh pad.
It’s time now to end this love song.
So back up, I’m throwing one long.
Outside on grass or on turf in a dome;
From my couch watching TV in the comfort of home;
There’s been nothing quite like it since the blood games of Rome
And it’s where my heart says I belong.