CHICKS DIG SCARS: Twas the Night of the Bear Game
Twas the Night of the Bear game and all through Lambeau,
Some fans were still bitching, “Why aren’t we 14 and oh?”
The concessions were packed with bratwurst and beer,
Waiting for Cheeseheads to show up and cheer.
The Stick ‘em was smeared on Finley’s favorite glove,
“You drop one more pass and you’ll be watching from Curley’s Pub.”
What’s left of the O-line, stuck together with care,
Wondering if Tausch would soon need to be there.
When out in the parking lot, looking grumpy and grubby,
It had to be Urlacher, Peppers and Lovie.
Arriving by bus, since the Bears are too cheap,
To charter a plane so their players could sleep.
The moon shone on a pickup that had just arrived
Paid for by Ford, for the quarterback to drive.
Rodgers drove past fans and gave them a wave,
Assuring them that this night, their season he’d save.
With a dropback and release so lively and quick,
Unlike the last guy, there would be no pick.
More rapid than Hester, his receivers they came,
As he barked and bellowed and called them by name.
“Now Jennings, now Jordy, now Crabtree and Randall!
On J-Mike, on Quickie, on D.J. and Taylor.”
From the top of the post to the fly pattern route,
Catch the damn ball, or I’ll call your ass out.”
A mane of blond hair pushed past the mob,
Someone declared, “I think I smell Suave.”
Clay Matthews arrived with a scowl on his face,
We knew McCown’s ass on the field he would place.
His hair was so long, his muscles just popped,
We refuse to believe that they’d been photo-shopped .
“Where are the sack numbers, where are they Clay?”
Well, you try to tackle being held every play.
Raji jiggled and danced and put on the Belt,
Packer fans just love that he’s not very svelte.
With his stomach all packed with hot wings and beer,
O-lineman can’t handle his massive appeal!
His eyes — how they twinkled! His dimples so merry!
His cheeks were so chubby, he didn’t look scary!
But when his big butt danced in the endzone,
Every pissed off Bear fan let out a groan.
But what to my inebriated eyes should appear,
But a Ginger haired Wolverine, standing quite near.
His arms crossed on his chest, he looked really bored.
The punter on Aaron’s Team is usually ignored.
His buddy the kicker mumbled and swore.
Where was that accuracy we’d all begun to adore?
Don’t worry Mason, you won’t be sent to St. Paul
Only old guys afraid of cold, embrace the Queen’s call.
And then in the haze of charcoal briquettes
Comes the man with the power to make good on threats.
A red Sharpie marker tucked behind his ear,
You piss him off now, and the bench will be near.
He was dressed all in green from his head to his feet,
A thousand play combinations, written on his sheet.
His main focus seemed to be on number 12,
Dom handles the defense, of that he won’t delve.
He sprang to the sideline and gave his team a whistle,
Ordering them all to give the FIB’s a dismissal.
“Send the Navy and Orange back to their truck,
Because everyone knows that the BEARS STILL SUCK.”
Apologies to Packers I didn’t mention. Maybe I’ll add a verse if I think of one.