Okay, I couldn't help myself. My bad poetry just wrote itself.
And I couldn't help but post it on ESPN's page.
I call it: Ode' To KraperDouche.
Looky here,
Looky there,
Looky everywhere.
See him throw high
See him throw low
See him throw bullets
Ore' everyone's head.
He runs like a deer
And kisses the biceps
Of lasses everywhere.
He has abs of steel
And brains of goo.
If Superbowls
are what you desire,
Quick, look somewhere else
For here you won't find
A decent QB.
Just an angry manchild
Who whines with bile
While fiddling with thumbs
To decipher the covers
Of single high safety
From two man under.
The ball will sail.
His abs will jut,
A funny pose
Doth did he struck.
So sure he was
Of immaculate reception
Notice he didn't,
The fugly interception.
The screams go up
And he kisses his arm
Bathing in the glow
of tiny silver flashes.
It isn't until
His vision swims
With gold and blue
That the music in his ears
Surely aren't shouts
Of dear lovely cheers
But are something much worse
Because, my sweets,
The cheers you hear
And really blackhearted jeers.
A half hearted attempt at
Tackling he gives
Before being trucked
By the big nose tackle.
From the turf he watches
The fat man dance,
His belly jiggling,
His sweaty ass wiggling
Riding that ball
Like a good little dear.
The game is lost
The clock reads zero.
The hope is gone
His career be over,
Oh how they wish,
They had Alex Smith back
Instead of this pretender
With his fake ghetto accent.