"CASEY AT THE DRAFT," a Poem from Gump4Heisman

Gump4Heisman.com

The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Alabama seven that day:
The Draft had gone six rounds, with but one round left to play,
And then when Kiper kept talking, and Todd McShay did too,
A pall-like silence fell upon the formerly-in-Crimson crew.

The hungry few who'd given their all, and the spoiled rest
Clung to the hope which now arose anew in Casey’s breast;
"If only they'd seen this mighty Casey master his craft –
They'd put up even more money to land Casey in this draft."

But Brandon Coutu preceded Casey, as did also Carl Nicks,
While the latter issued blocks, the former only dealt in kicks.
Indeed the 7th Round brought on a most melancholy phase,
For there seemed little chance of Casey-to-the-stage.

Then it was Flynn to the Packers, to the surprise of all,
And Marcus Monk to the Bears, to go catch the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what occurred,
There had been Dunlap to the Eagles, and Hester in the third.

From two-hundred-and-fifty throats had come a huge yell;
It had rumbled through the valley, it had rattled in the dell;
It had pounded on the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For they had been told by the league, ‘You’re coming to bat.’

There was ease in Casey's manner as he sat inside his place;
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face.
And when, responding to his family, he pointed to the screen,
No one in the room doubted he would find himself a team.