An Ode to The Wild Cards, Part One

Ten points up, the game was boring

The Saints played like noone was there

But the Who Dats caved to Carlson's scoring

And looked as if they tackled air

The Saints' backfield, so far eroded

The line false-started from the noise

I think Sean Payton's head exploded

As joyous Carroll praised his boys

A breakout run, poor kick onside

Some lousy calls to twist the knife

Upon this hurl-inducing ride

Both teams were clinging for their life

New Orleans eventually lost the battle

At thirty-six to forty-one

At eight and nine now comes Seattle

Ready to spoil Atlanta's run

In the AFC, the hate was breeding

Tempers surging, flames-a-fanning;

The Colts were trying to stop the bleeding

And Ryan wished to knock off Manning

Ol' Rex shouted, Sanchez tried,

LT had some epic runs

But Peyton would not be denied,

And it appeared as if the Colts had won

The home crowed cheered, the field goal boomed

V, for victory, and Vinatieri

But fifty ominous seconds loomed

(And would you trust Indy's secondary?)

And so the clock announced the hour

But premature celebration begets

Collapses of the highest power

And victoriously emerged the Jets

Yet fortune favors strong, not meek;

Both winners shall be nixed next week.

I'm pretty busy, but Part II will come later.