Once upon a Sunday leery, battle-worn and somewhat teary,
Over losses suffered from the previous week before.
Biting nails in nervous wonder, hoping soon to rise from under,
rise up from my recent blunder, of my scoreless week before.
'I have to beat them,' I muttered, ' beat them with my higher score
Dad and Caleb--nothing more.'

From the silken sad and tersely, rustling of each purple jersey,
suddenly I was sadly shaken by the horror of the score;
'it cannot be,' I grumbled, as I saw him rush and tumble
breaking lines of defense, gaining yards, amassing score,
It was my nemesis I grimaced, number thirty-one he wore -
'Jamal Lewis!%#$#!' --nothing more.

Now my soul was heavy-laden, at the news that Caleb played him,
played as running back this player who accrued the highest score.
more yardage than the rest, it was his week to be the best
but for my hopes of winning he had soundly shut the door.
I was Beaten by a purple Raven from the town of Baltimore.
That is all and nothing more.