In the style of Baltimore's own Edgar Allan Poe and his most famous work of whom the Ravens are (obviously) named after.
I merely saw someone repost this on twitter. Credit goes to "PatsFanInVA" from Patsfans.com
Quoth the Ravens 'Nevermore.' The Ravens
With apologies to Edgar Allan Poe
EA Poe... It's in the game!
Once upon a Sunday dreary, while I shouted drunk and beery,
Over many a quaint and curious replay of 2000 lore,
While I grant, without reduction, the value of Ray-Ray’s Obstruction,
They’re not Jet-like in their suck-tion, but deduction tells you, that was before.
‘They’re a D,' I muttered, `Their QB can’t score -
Only defense, nothing more.'
Ah, distinctly I remember after 2009’s December,
How January made my member shrink and shrivel to the core.
Eagerly I wished the morrow, that playoff game set in Foxboro
In the books, and causing sorrow - sorrow we just couldn’t score
For the harried QB Brady whom the gods that day deplored -
Redeemed today for evermore.
May a sick and certain hurtin’ be put upon the purple curtain,
Thrill us - fill us with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of Joe Flacco, Time-outs are needing
`'Tis some visitor receding slowly to Foxboro’s floor -
Some hated visitor receding to Foxboro’s floor; -
This Flacco is, and nothing more,'
For in ’12 our rush grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said they, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is that while two-gapping, too gently often we came rapping,
And so faintly we came tapping, tapping at an O-line’s door,
That they scarce were sure they heard us' - here Carter opened wide the door; -
‘But this is now, that was before.’
Deep into that defense peering, Flacco stood there wondering, fearing,
Belichick’s scheming schemes no quarterback had yet seen before;
But the other Ray was badly broken, and the Patriots gave no token,
And the only word there spoken in Flacco’s helmet radio, `fourth and four!'
This was whispered, and Flacco echo’d back the last word, `…four?'
Merely punt and nothing more.
Back to Brady, the game returning, 2010 within him burning,
Soon the Ravens heard Foxboro stirring somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said Tom, `surely that is something at my blind side;
Let me sidestep (kiss my hind side), and this defense now explore -
Let the crowd be still a moment while this defense I explore; -
'Tis Ed Reed and nothing more!'
Open here he found Wes Welker, who, like Manson, helter-skelter,
carved up the stately Ravens of the hated days of yore.
Not the least hesitation made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien forsaking “maybe, ” found the end-zone of Baltimore -
Perched upon the Ravens’ end-zone, just another Patriots score -
As we carved up Baltimore.
Then these ebony birds beguiling, took the ball back, never smiling,
But a grave and stern decorum was the countenance they wore,
`Though thy decal be confusing, thou,' I said, `art sure amusing.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering in from Baltimore -
Tell me when thy lordly game will be like Year 2000 lore!'
Quoth the Ravens, `Nevermore.'
At length I’d write, like Poe’s original -- of the Bronco round divisional,
Or a rhyme or two provisional, about Gronkowski’s record scores,
Or rhapsodize about young Ninkovich, or say that Kinkos
Copies less than the stinkos on the coaching staff of Baltimore –
But the game approaches; can Baltimore their dreams restore?
Quoth the Ravens, ‘Nevermore.’