A poem for the falcons by Cory Woodroof
Twas the night before football, when all through the land.
Not a Falcon was being fast or physical; not even Coach Dan.
Dirty Bird hopes were up high, there joy to a twee,
Surely this would be the season they’d stop the joking about 28-3.
Julio slept eagerly, Mo Sanu was catching “Zs”,
Doing BeanTalk with Turbo while having his dreams,
With Takk in his PJs, and Vic in his cap,
The team just settled our in for a long Atlanta nap.
When out on Soldier Field there arose such a clatter,
Matty Ice sprang from his bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the gridiron, he went very carefully,
Like that time he avoided death at the hands of Nick Fairley.
The moon shone down on the pylons and the Chicago green,
The MVP looked up, to see what was beyond the big screen.
When, what to his wondering eyes should be filled,
But two dope boys, in a Cadillac, still.
Oh joy! Here they came! Two of the ATL’s best!
He knew in a moment it must be Outkast.
More rapidly than Julio out-running a Panther,
Big Boi saluted the MVP, and yelled with such laughter!
“Now, Ryan! Now, Iceman! Now, Mattural, listen!
The Patriots are terrible, the Saints, just big chickens!
All of us ATLiens cheer for you, from Peachtree to Buckhead,
Now, get that stupid Super Bowl removed quickly from your head!”
“Obviously, Shanahan should have run it, that much is certain,
But, come on, a field could have missed, and Brady would have been lurking.
The collapse was inevitable, the media would have always been hounding,
Of a Super Bowl Hangover,” said Andre 3000.
“We’re over it, I promise, Dan Quinn won’t allow this.
Those military training sessions really burned us out of it.”
Andre looked to the leagues’ best QB and nodded with a smile
“We’ve got gifts that will help you move on for a while.”
“For Grady, Brady’s number, for it was already his from the start,
And, Deion Jones, a gas mask, in case he catches wind of a Dontari Poe fart.
For Trufant, a bubble suit, for his health is of paramount need,
And to Takk McKinley, a new bone, for his beloved dog Codeine.
“For Jake Matthews, a big hug, for we know he could use one
How could someone so good at his job be that criticized under the sun?
For Devonta and Tevin, a bike they can share
And to Duke Riley, new shampoo for his beautiful, flowing hair.”
Big Boi then jumped in, to offer a few words so wise,
He raised his eyebrow, and told Matt something to realize.
“Look how far the team’s come, since the old routine,
When we started literal garbage bags on defense, back in 2013”
“Look, they weren’t bad people, just bad on the field,
Now we have competent players, full of aggression and zeal.
These guys on the team now how to win, on success, they always feed!
Did you see what Keanu Neal did to poor Willie Snead?
“So, Matt, here us say this, as the ambassadors to the city.
It’s time for the Birds to bounce back, that ring will be pretty.”
Ryan nodded as Three Stacks and Daddy Fat Sax left in a flash
Their Caddy flying to park somewhere for the game, Soldier Field’s always bad for that.
The QB felt energized, it was time to fight back.
This was their year, he was sure about that.
But he heard Sir Lucious Left Foot exclaim, as they drove to the sky,
“Just remember, old friend, the Saints will once again go 7-9!”