Draft Day Poem

Fredd

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The Commish stands up tall, and gets ready to say
Welcome to the draft, it’s time to play
The first pick draws near, Buccaneers on the clock
Mariotta to philly? Wouldn’t be a shock

Dallas is drafting WAY in the back
Get your popcorn ready, your beverage, your snacks.
We’ll argue and post ‘bout “what should they do?”
And then hope to God that they don’t trade to day two

So what do they do with their very first pick?
A running back, rusher, I think I’ll be sick
Best player available is the zone’s constant thought
The mystery is stifling, it makes a great plot

The trades make the draft extend by some hours
Can’t wait for our pick, that taste in my mouth? Sour
It starts with the titans who have to trade down
The browns are their target, led by a clown

The eagles will try to get up for their guy
Will Chip end up happy, or ultimately cry
Every move before ours makes us wait a bit more
We need to be patient, no remotes on the floor

The draft has some guys that have trouble around them
Pot smokers and vandals, are we to condemn?
The Jones’ won’t care if it gets them a ring
So don’t judge the pick and what the player may bring

Enough of this nonsense, it’s time to strap in
Won’t see the mrs til Sunday, my beauty, my Lynne
Three days of the draft, we are NFL harlots
Now pick us some players, Red stop flirting with Charlotte!
 

MonsterD

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YosemiteSam

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