My Take on the Raven

image from here

The Super Bowl is soon upon us, and I wanted to take the opportunity to celebrate the Ravens' inclusion in the contest with a poem.  Most people know that the Ravens were named after the poem by Edgar Allan Poe; I took Poe's cadence and rhyming scheme, and modified the words to make what you see below.

There are a few inside jokes that only work folk would understand, and the occasional reference to things that may not be familiar to you; if you have questions, ask away.  Enjoy!

- JMM

John Mark McLean's The Ravens

One dark day in Yorkshire dreary, while I pondered Mike McQueary,

and his witness of Sandusky’s deeds which all good men abhor;        

while I thought on Penn State’s season- perservering through the treason-

suddenly, for no good reason, someone yelled outside my door.

“Tis some communist,” I muttered, “lurking at my office door.-

Likely this, and nothing more.”

Still this Bolshevik persisted, so my work I soon desisted

And a base instinct resisted, to shout curses through the door

“What want thou, fiend!” I soon was screaming, interrupting colleagues’ dreaming

And disrupting valued teaming between the workers on the floor

“Yield immediately your purpose; should you not forthwith outpour

You’ll get demerits here for sure.”

Zephir answered with a bellow, lacking courage- therefore yellow,

And this rather seedy fellow then burst through the op’ning door

“what a game!” he was exclaiming, cheering Flacco and proclaiming

“We’re the best!” and thus was claiming Ravens victory for sure

“Friend,” said I, bemused and smiling, “please tone down the raucous roar”

I then stated: “still one more.”

“Eagles suck!” he then retorted, while new Ravens gear he sported

And to more insults resorted, feigning decency no more

“My team rocks and your team’s sucky- every win they get is lucky”

He continued, throwing mucky claims and sayings as he swore

Yes, this man was cruel and tactless, but he had ignited war

Such treatment I could not ignore.

“How quickly you are forgetting, as you throw this verbal netting

Gloating while the rest are getting tired of this loathsome bore:

“I well know, and can assure you, getting there is quite the virtue

But losing still can rather hurt you- sting like nothing stung before

Yes, a bitter loss at finish can bring sorrow to the fore”

I repeated: “still one more.”

“Plus, I said, “you must consider, gloating now increases bitter

Feelings which are bound to litter ‘round you, covering the floor;”

Should in fact the Ravens blow it, and they might- what man can know it?

if they do, your friends will show it, happily bringing up the score

Yes, friends will return the favor, picking on your team for sure

I said finally, “still one more.”

Matt became exasperated as my words he contemplated

But soon he felt exonerated, and tried to pass this mental chore

“Help me, Steve!” He soon was asking, as I moved on to other tasking

(though I secretly was basking in my words so wise and pure)

Yes, I think Matt fell down smarting, terrified of me for sure

Confident he was no more.

With other Ravens fans he pleaded- help was what he sorely needed

Perspiration plentifully beaded on his head, and fear he wore

On his face, it showed quite plainly; then he coughed and smiled wanely

And spoke out somewhat inanely “I can’t take this anymore!”

He turned again to Steven Turner, pleading as he’d done before

“Help me please!” he did implore.

“Sorry Matt, I can’t be working, while my next assignment’s lurking”

(Though it should be noted that a year remained on Turner’s tour)

Matt then asked Mo, but he was frisky, drinking down some hidden whisky

(keeping that at work is risky, but it beats sobriety’s bore)

Yes, it seemed he had no helpers; facing me he must endure

Alone, forgotten, and unsure.

Rather than accept my saying, he retorted “least they’re playing”

and threw in some insults, spraying vitriol all around the floor

Then, at last, he started sobbing, and his head, it started bobbing

As he accused me then of robbing, taking joy from him once more

Yes, he seemed the most downtrodden as he started toward the door

“Wait!” I stated- “let’s talk more.”

“Look,” I said, “here is the issue,” while I handed him a tissue

“Should this screaming fit continue, you’ll find a foe in me for sure.

It’s okay to root for Flacco, while you chew that vile tobacco,

And cheer for him like a whacko, till you can’t speak anymore

But these things are best done nicely, so respect you will ensure

And your friendships will endure”

“If the Ravens end up winning, it was them from the beginning

Your devoted underpinning altered not the final score

So sir, please forego this bragging, and stop this incessant nagging

And on others’ teams stop ragging- it’s childish and immature

No matter how devoted, fans do not for their own team procure

Wins that only players secure”

“I hope the Ravens get the victory, so your words aren’t contradictory

And your pronouncement valedictory, listen to my point once more

It’s best to enjoy a victory quietly, humbly in state of sobriety

Or you’ll find a notoriety at your reputation’s door

Yes, you’ll see that closest allies drift on to a distant shore

If you are a winner sore”

I felt my point at last was graven; Matt acknowledged me a maven

I, in turn, forgave this craven- all was right at work once more

We agreed to stop the roasting, and soon parted with a toasting

Promising to end our boasting, and lay our differences at the door

Yes, I know we’ll both be watching, hoping that the Ravens soar.

Let’s all hope a win’s in store.