Ya know, we aren’t about to let the Ravens’ dismal play ruin our Holiday Spirit here at the Nest. As such, instead of recapping that turd from last night (you can read about it here, here, and here, if you are so inclined), we thought we would have some fun. And so, here it is, “Twas the 13th Game of the Season” (obviously set to the rhyming scheme of “Twas the Night Before Christmas.”
Bob Irsay, Circa 1983
Twas the 13th game of the season, at M&T Bank,
Our Ravens had been losing, all year they had stank.
Black jerseys were hung in their lockers with care,
Madden and Michaels, the SNF crew would be there.
Here in Charm City, this game gives us a fright,
playing this team that was taken from us, under cover of night.
But these aren’t the same Colts watched by your father or mother,
and we hoped that this Manning would play more like his brother.
The fans were all standing, not one in their seat,
Remembering Brady, and the Pats’ near defeat.
With Boller under center, and Reed covering Wayne,
We settled our nerves, knowing we’d win the game.
When out of the locker room, there came word of disaster,
C-Mac was out! The Colts would score faster!
Groans arose from the crowd, it couldn’t be true,
The Colts will get open, Samaris out too!
Hope faded quickly, things were not looking good,
The Ravens were not to play as well as they could.
On this cold, dark, and rainy night in the East,
Peyton was in town, and on purple he’d feast!
With a wry, confident grin I’d seen on TV,
18 moved the ball, fast as could be.
More rapid than Elway’s, his passes they flew,
He guided his troops, and they knew what to do.
“Now Reggie! Now Dallas! Now Utecht, and Addai!
Gonzalez! Go deeper! Catch this on the fly!
To the back of the end zone, right down the seam!
No one can cover you, no one on that team!”
Dressed in blue and white, on his cap a horseshoe,
Leading the troops in B-More, like old Johnny U.
Our vaunted defense bit on each fake,
John Madden even asked, “Whats in a Crabcake?”
His throws — how they spiraled! His tosses – how money!
The Ravens were no match, t’wernt even funny.
They shredded our D, laid waste to our O,
Ravens fans left; before the half they did go.
And then what did we see, but a vision so troubling?
Jim Irsay in our house, his champagne glasses bubbling.
Watching o’er the game from his luxury suite,
“We stole your team, B-More, with that Mayflower fleet!”