Ahhhhhhhhhh the sweet smell of a Bear’s fan in paroxyms of delusion.
THE PACKERS
(apologies to Poe)
Once upon a Sunday dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious sportspage of forgotten lore,
While my team was 6 and 1, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my delusion’s door
Tis some visiter," I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door
Only this, and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak November
We had won two games on flukes after a deal with Satan
Eagerly I wished the morrow; –
vainly I had sought to borrow
From the Bear’s past surcease of sorrow
sorrow for the lost Payton–
For the grace and beauty of my loved Sweetness, Payton
Nameless here for evermore.
And the sad uncertain rustling of each black and orange curtain
Thrilled me – filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door –
Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door; –
This it is, and nothing more.”
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is we have a better record, until you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you " – here I opened wide the door; ----
Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
Dreams of beating the Packers on this Sunday
But the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Packers!”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Packers!”
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon I heard again a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “since we for once aren’t lame, we will win this football game.
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;–
'Tis the wind and nothing more!”
I opened the window, and got mean
when, with grace came Favre and Green
In there stepped the Packers as if the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made them;
not an instant stopped or stayed them;
But, with mien of Lord of Football, perched above my chamber door –
Perched upon a bust of Ditka just above my chamber door –
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then these athletes, beguiling
my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though a publicly owned team, thou,” I said,
"Unlike the McCaskey’s, greedy cows.
Surely the Bears will be victorious on South Lake Shore –
Tell me when will the Bears beat the Packers once more…
Quoth the Packers “Nevermore.”
“Be that word our sign of parting,
hated Packers!” I shrieked, upstarting
“Get thee back into Wisconsin, and come not back to Soldier Field.”
Leave no broken Miller or Thomas, as a token
that you crushed us as you have spoken!
Leave my delusions of being good unbroken!
Quit the bust above my door!
Take the dagger from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Packers, “Nevermore.”
And the Packers, never failing, still are wailing, still are wailing
On my Bear’s team that has gotten lucky to win before;
And their eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws their shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted – nevermore!
