Surprise? A Ferrari for your birthday is a surprise. Tavaris Jackson being terrible last night In the Hubert Humphrey Dome? Not a surpise. This poem has been months in the making, but I believe that Jackson 7 was the last straw.
Black quarterback thou has direly regressed/
And with notable haste I do record it so
From form that we had once to know thee best/
A fall from grace thee ne’er had to go/
From Vick to Leftwich, Garrard to Charlie Batch/
Each one a wee bit worse of than the next/
To Vince Young’s depression and Prozac/
To JaMarcus’ ineptitude and thoughts of being “next”/
Where are the skills that we know thee posses?/
Dost thou always have to rely upon thy legs?/
Is it stereotyped inaccuracy that makes us see thee less?/
And question of thy off- field activity begs?
When did thy worth become the second string?/
Even Donavan was benched after Ravens quoth nevermore/
Doug Williams is the first and last to win a ring/
Are thy exploits destined to be forgotten lore?/
And with Joe Flacco or Matt Ryan winning rookie of the year/
You, thou black quarterback, may be doomed to disappear/.
I'd also like to thank Seneca Wallace, Cleo Lemon, and Daunte Culpepper for also falling off (or never getting on) and inspiring such a piece of poetic beauty.