The Season You Save May Be Your Own

I. Prologue
Without a loss after two ugly games
In which our boys did not deserve to win
Because of turnovers and other sin,
Heroics brought us victory the same.

Fourth quarter magic seemed to be the rule
After first halves of heartbreak and of pain,
Face-down on grass our quarterback seemed slain;
After each hit we waited for the blood to pool.

Perhaps for fear of pain, poor throws they come;
And into waiting hands of cornerbacks.
Still, Mike Vick’s decisions seemed dazed and lax;
We knew if it continued, we’d be done.

Typical sun in Phoenix produced hope
That we could build an early lead to keep;
Back in the game, the Cards would never creep;
Grime of stats cleansed by winning’s joyous soap.

Hitting commenced, Vick fumbled early,
While Kolb was great, a point to prove.
Fitzgerald free and always on the move;
The Arizona defense staunch and surly.

We’ve seen men fumble in this brutal game,
Teammates and fans do soon forgive;
“But in the red zone, you have to find a way to score!”
So coaches always said.

II. The Action

The play at first half’s end:
Designed for quick release, yet for eternity,
Vick held the ball.
He never saw the blind side blitz…
(No blocker there, he wasn’t supposed to need the time.)

III. The Poem

It is the reasoned crisis of the leader:
Against the will to take the game into his own hands,
Against the game plan, well-rehearsed but bland;
Fighting always, the will to run,
Acting as the pocket-passer, better than the run?
The coach, he says to trust his team—
A patchwork line, receivers small and lean;
Immobile Vick: for sack-hungry Ds, a feeder.

IV. Epilogue

As the Cardinal defender scampered 93 yards, twenty pursued,
All but Vick, who could not rise;
Defeat would come as no surprise.

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