Supper Bowl 51 Poem Poem by Tom Zart

The stands are full of eager fans
Who say, we're paid too much money!
But if they would put our suits on
They'd find football isn't funny.


Twenty-two men and five referees
Chasing a pigskin, air filled ball.
Mashing and bashing all the way
Till the striped shirts whistle their call.


All the generals on the sideline
Are waging their athletic war.
And the letters in the words they use
Never amount to more than four.


There's no substitute for winning
And no excuse for losing.
Though after games; when we can't sleep
It's because of all the bruising.


America is the birthday cake of Earth
As the ants march from every direction.
Thank God for all who have sworn to defend her
Serving with love, honor, pride, and affection.


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