PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

‘Twas a clash of two titans, a contest of wills,

‘tween the sure footed Giants, and fleet footed Bills.

A grandiose struggle, of inches and yards,

by linebackers, quarterbacks, tackles and guards.



Combatants assembled, ‘neath Tampa’s bright sun,

on Super Bowl Sunday, nineteen-ninety-one,

to battle for dominance, sport legend’s fame,

to crown a new victor, exalt and acclaim.



A crowd of o’er seventy-thousand  stood strong,

in reverence to Whitney‘s crooned national song,

and waved those small flags, their allegiance anew,

while Air Force jets fresh from the Gulf, over-flew.



O’ on with the war, toss the coin in the air,

let the carnage begin, with a cheer and a prayer.

Then on with the fight, from beginning to end,

while the Bills attack first, and the Giants defend.



With four downs and out, Kelly’s drive was a dud,

the Bills came up short, failed to draw the first blood.

So down marched the Giants, Bahr’s kick was a chip,

New Yorker’s had three, and the Buffalo’s, zip.



A kickoff, a runback, a throw that went deep,

a pass of the pigskin that fell incomplete,

three times the Bills failed to advance the knurled ball,

then Norwood kicked true, and the score was three all.



‘Twas a war in the trenches, a battle of grunts,

of incomplete passes, short rushes and punts,

a scrimmage line moving, once forth, then reversed,

‘twas tied up three all, at the end of the first.



Bills opened the second, determined to lead,

with three perfect passes, from Kelly to Reed.

The ball came to rest on the yard marker four,

then quick up the gut, for a sure easy score.



With the score ten to three, the Bills were ahead,

preventing those Giants from scoring, stopped dead.

They punted the ball, quite deep down the field,

backed up to the goal line, New York’s fate seemed sealed.



The quarterback audibled, “Blue twenty-two”

then crouched behind center, “hut one, and hut two”.

He took the ball cleanly, peeled off to the back,

was dropped for a safety, a Buffalo sack.



To celebrate now, was a bit premature,

but the Bills did a dance,  seemed a mite too cocksure.

With a long way to go, till the end of the game,

New York had no thoughts, of relinquishing claim.



‘Twas off to the trenches for backfield and grunts,

with too many poorly thrown passes and punts.

They ate up some yardage, but gave it all back,

till finally the Giants went forth on attack.



They scored before halftime, just seconds to go,

and dealt the Bills’ boldness a sure-fired blow.

When they walked off the field, those twenty-two men,

the Bill’s lead had narrowed, a mere twelve to ten.



I’d talk about halftime, but who gives a hoot,

I’m sure that those talented pop-stars were cute,

and fans that sat through it, were glad that they came,

but the heck with the show,  let’s get back to the game.



The Giants, determined to not fall behind,

drove first down the field, a methodical grind.

They scored with a drive nearly ten minutes long,

and suddenly look quite invincibly strong.



Those Buffalo Bills though, would not be deterred,

nor soon counted out, as their mettle was stirred.

They ran from the shotgun, a first in ten draw,

then broke several tackles, to score without flaw.



The crowd was elated, a cheering to-do,

for Thomas’s run had them winning by two,

The fans stomped and hollered, and caused quite a din,

just hold this last quarter, and surely they’ll win.



Those New Yorkers still had one drive up their sleeve,

with plenty of time to make doubters believe.

A quick well placed score, for the kick was well done,

and they came from behind, they were winning by one.



The Bills found themselves in a pretty bad fix,

for the clock now had dwindled to eight precious ticks.

With just one play left, the coach knew what to do,

he called out for Scott and his magical shoe.



Scott paced off the yardage, and checked out the sod,

for big bumps, or strange lumps, or anything odd.

He checked out the wind, watched the flags in their flap,

then narrowed his eyes, and awaited the snap,



The rest was a nightmare, a slow motion trip,

for the ball left his foot, in a near perfect kick.

It sailed through the air, in the clear Tampa night,

but just missed the goalpost, ‘twas wide to the right.



New York won the Super Bowl’s game twenty-five,

for Buffalo failed in their last fateful drive,

and as for the kicker that Florida night............

he’ll always be known as Scott Norwood, wide right.