Two-bit beefcakes, heavily clad
In plastic, elastic,
And other strange pads
Pushing and shoving each other around,
Grunting and grappling
'Till they're all on the ground.
It's just when you'd think they'd had enough when
They get up, slap some butts,
And then do it again.
All just to move a small leather pouch
Full of air, while I stare
From the edge of my couch.
When it crosses the line, a million hearts quicken
While men strut, dance, and prance
Like a brood of high chickens.
If you have a take, then I ask you to tell
Me one more fun way
To describe our dear NFL.