Primaries? What Primaries?

or,

When They Said “Super Tuesday”, I Thought They Meant They’d Moved the Game from Sunday

I watch one football game a year –
               That “Super Bowl” affair –
And shout and yell and cry and cheer,
               Though I don’t know one player.

Well, guess I’ve heard of one or two,
               Whose names their fans all love;
But no idea what they’ll do
               When push has come to shove.

That Brady fella – what’s he do?
               He stands there so defiant;
His line won’t let nobody through—
               Except, perhaps, a Giant.

And Eli – when’d he get so good?
               His brother must be jealous
And think that he himself, too, should
               Be there with his Colt fellas.

Will New England finish nineteen-zero
               And end up rich and famouth?
Or will plucky Giants find a hero
               In David-Eli-Namath?

It’ll all come out before my eyes
               In Sunday’s Super show,
On a field I don’t recognize
               By players I don’t know.

Cuz weekly football I don’t see,
               Because I’m just not able.

OK. It’s cuz we’ve no TV.
               (Well really, just no cable.)

                                —O. Nonamath

                                                                       © 2008