Recent conversations with a couple of football-loving girlfriends reminded me of this little ditty. I composed it when I was in junior high, back when the frozen north ruled the NFL - sort of like this year. What could have been more old school than seeing the Packers, Bears, Steelers, and Jets vying for the Super Bowl this year? I always got a vicious little thrill, seeing southern teams play up north, in falling snow, or in single-digit temps. Namby pambies. You should try living up north ALL THE TIME.
Ahem. Anyway, this is the only thing I ever wrote that I can recite in its entirety. If you would like to enjoy it for yourself, sing it to the tune of Jingle Bells.
Football games! Football games!Frolics in the snow,Sitting on a frozen benchIt's just thirteen belo-ow!Pass received? Pass received?We will never know,For the guy who made the catchIs buried in the snow!
Dashing through snow,A wishbone T in play--There's faith though we're behindNineteen to three today.Our team just can' t fit inThe place where we now play.You see, we are from FloridaAnd playing in Green Bay!
(repeat chorus with gusto)
(Disclaimers: Yes, I know nineteen is an uncommon score, and I know Miami didn't run the wishbone, and they certainly didn't run it across divisions against the Packers. But it's a poem, dammit, and these words scanned, and that's the important thing.)
(P.S. Go Steelers!)
