Poem: A Game of Inches

Here is a little satire on the language of football

A Game of Inches

Roy White

They were rushing four, standing tall
in the pocket; they’d driven
into the red zone looking
for an open tight end,
but all they found was a zero blitz
on a shutdown corner. The whole thing
was just a series of downs.
The receivers they were targeting

must have called an audible, decided
a safety can be free or strong but not both
and sometimes you’ve got to move the chains,
give them a stiff-arm in the wishbone
and hit the gap. There were
no flags.

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