Carl Stevens' Journal: A Poem For Patriots Fans

You wanna criticize Brady? Go on the attack?
Try throwing a ball when you're on your back.
Laid out like a hot dog without any mustard,
Tom got treated like General Custer,
An avalanche of Broncos stormed from the hills,
Tommy was in need of anti-pain bills,
Denver's defense was huffin' and hoofin',
Poor Tom Brady needed ibuprofen.
He was plastered, blasted, smacked and smashed,
His helmet was the buffer of a two-player crash.
But he kept it close, despite aching joints,
they came close to winning, just missed by two points.
Why go for two, you're asking me?
Cuz Gostkowski missed a PAT.
Five-hundred-twenty-three straight he had made,
But we all saw that football fade
To the right, to the right, toward memory's trench,
And so we occupy a loser's bench.
But it wasn't all his fault, no how, no way.
And this team lives to fight another day.
It's always tough in Denver, and I'm not sure why,
But the Pats lose a lot in Mile High.
There will be more games on the pigskin clock,
And maybe next time the line will block,
And the Pats will climb to the top of the tree,
With inflated balls to victory.
But for now we're left our sack of coal,
And we'll watch someone else in the Super Bowl.

Listen to Carl's poem: