'Twas the Night Before the Super Bowl

'Twas the night before the Super Bowl, and all through the state
Not a cheer for the Steelers, they're only for the reprobate.
The helmets and jerseys were all hung with care,
In hopes that St. Vincent soon would be there.

The Packer-backers were huddled in their beds
While visions of Lombardi's trophy danced in their heads.
And brother with his football, and I in my cheese cap,
Had just finished our game plan for a long winter's nap.

When out on the sideline there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to Lambeau I flew l like a flash,
Tore through the turnstile and threw the guard into a pile of mash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear
but a full length trench coat, a fedora, and glasses so clear.

'Twas a little old coach, so stern with words unminced,
I knew in a moment it must be Saint Vince.
With the rumble of semis, his players spread fear,
And Vince yelled, "What the hell is going on out here!"

Now Nitchske! Now Wood! Now Hornung, now, Taylor!
On, Skoronski! On, Davis! On, Starr and Kramer!
To the top of the league! To the top of them all!
Block away! Tackle away! Smash the opposition all!

He sprang to the sideline, along his teams' right flank.
And away they all rambled like a Sherman tank.
As down the field, playing great football so vital,
The Packers played on, to win another title.