Carl Stevens' Journal: A Poem For Deflategate
As a sighing summer turned to Fall,
As we were obsessed with deflated balls,
Mired in self-absorption and pity,
There came a glorious word from New York City.
Justice is a fair, sweet sounding lady,
And she justly proclaimed, " Free Tom Brady!"
A judge threw glasses at the NFL's moles,
And shot their arguments full of holes.
Righteousness wrought in black and white,
A pure and sacred holy sight
That parted the river of obfuscation,
And cheers were heard across Patriot Nation.
A boy from Burlington screamed "Hurray!"
A lady in Providence said, "That's the way!"
An old guy in Portland gave the air a high five,
The whole Northeast was suddenly alive.
Victory is sweet, you gotta like it,
That ruling's a football, and Gronk can spike it.
And Mister Goodell's got egg on his face
The judge deflated the NFL's case.
Words are bad eels in that commissioner's mouth.
He devises a world where north is south,
Where ugly rumors are a melodious sound.
Where hot is cold and right is wrong.
But now he's wrong, and he's hiding from sight.
You won't see him around on opening night,
When the banner's unveiled to the Foxboro crowd,
And they'll cheer number 12, long and loud.
A Super Bowl box of joy unsealed,
And we'll be reminded that justice is found on the field.
So keep picking your toenails, Baltimore,
And Indianapolis, you can walk out the door,
And Roger Goodell, go ahead and run,
Because on the field of justice, justice won.
Listen to Carl's poem: