Quick Slants: A poetic ode to the NFL

So much football, so few words. In an effort to prevent myself from gushing an excess of verbiage praising the NFL Playoffs, I’ve decided to limit myself to the most strict of verbal corsets: the haiku. Thanks to Gregg Easterbrook for the inspiration for these pigskin-poetics.



Playoffs inspire us,

Lawyer and Beer man alike.

Magic on the field.



He’s called Broadway Chad,

Floats Big Apple’s hopes up high.

J-E-T-S? No.



Referees don’t care

What Tagliabue may think,

Giants’ defense stinks.



Brownies may have choked,

But QB Holcomb impressed.

Someone need a Couch?



Methuselah lives:

In Gannon, Armstrong, Brown, Rice,

Romanowski too.



Tick tock, tick tock, Huh?

60 Minutes is up next.

Except on West Coast.



Jeremy Shockey,

You may have youth and talent,

But lack composure.



In AFC South,

Almost any can succeed.

Colts proof in playoffs.



Phil Simms’ brain has gone

Wandered far away from earth.

Poor Gumbel must cope.



Jeff Garcia a man?

Or more akin to an elf?

Tolkien’s quarterback.



Caw Caw Caw Caw Caw!

Screech the birds in battle dire,

McNabb rules the air.



Warren plays tight end

And makes Bucs defenders roar.

Niners are such Sapps.



Michael Vick’s chapstick

Can’t protect him from the cold

Two weeks in a row.



Steelers yield points,

To onslaughts from above.

Curtain of plastic?



CBS Pregame,

Pure torture: Jim, Dan, Boomer.

Highlight? Deion’s clothes.



Championships come:

Eagles, Bucs, Titans, Raiders.

See: Just Win Baby.

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