As I cursed the officials, there came the sound of more tapping,

"It's open," I call, to another Raven entering through my door,

Billy Cundiff, it is, with a "my bad" on his lips for a last errant kick.

"When the game is on the line," said he, I must make the ball soar.

Instead it went wide, and for that I must be one to abhor."

XLVI, nevermore.

"No, not true," I say to the kicker. The downs were miscounted

On the stadium scoreboard, and that is what we do deplore,

The last seconds were chaos, the board off by one,

First was really second; second, third, and on through to four.

Rushing to the field, no time to ready and steady and score.

Season's end, and nothing more.

Why oh why, we fans are left to query: Why at least no last time out?

Or was there trickery, such as the hooded one is known for —

Belichick, now hoping to slay Giants come Sunday the next?

While Ravens fans swallow the sorrow that continues to pour

When we think what might have been added to our local football lore.

Till next year, evermore.

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