Ravens at Seahawks Wishes: An Ode to Days of Yore

When the Seahawks face the Ravens this week, it will be their toughest test of the season.  Though they are at home, and they had to travel to Pittsburgh and New York, the Ravens bring a defense that's going to give Tarvaris Jackson and Marshawn Lynch fits all day long.

As if Seattle weren't struggling enough on offense, now they have to play Ray Lewis, Ed Reed, and Haloti Ngata.  It's going to be interesting (read: boring and/or frustrating) to watch.  

But what are the Hawks supposed to do?  Give up before the game starts?  Forfeit?  Punt on first down?  No.  They're going to go out there, play their asses off, and take chances.  In order to win this game, they will absolutely have to take chances.

When Danny asked me to write for Field Gulls, I also told him he was taking a chance.

I love to write and I love sports, but I don't love traditional sports writing.  I like it okay, but it doesn't do anything for me.  I am a creative writer first and foremost and it gives me a thrill to try and do it differently.  I don't think that I am the first writer of my kind by any means, and I don't pretend like I've got it all figured out, but I am absolutely doing it my way.  And I'm happy about that.  

Normally, I get an idea for an article and then sit down and write it and it's posted within a day.  There's not a lot of motion between the kernel of an idea and the product that I publish.  It happens pretty quickly.  Today's article is different.  Luckily, when I got this idea last week, I started to research it, and thank God I did because it took the whole week to complete.

I don't know that it is great.  I am positive that I'm not the first person to do something like this.  But I took a chance.  I didn't forfeit.  I'm not going to punt it.  That's how we get better.  That's how the Hawks will get better.

I just hope that you're not bored and/or frustrated when you read it.  So, here's my ode to this weekends game.

Once upon a Sunday dreary, Seahawks pondered weak and weary

Over on the moist green grass, as they hosted Baltimore

While they studied, never napping, suddenly there came a rapping

Faintly, did they hear a rapping, rapping near their practice floor

"Tis Ray Lewis," they muttered, "rapping near the practice floor -

Only this, and nothing more."

 

Ah, distinctly come the members, travel in a bleak November

And each Chancellor tackle splendor, turned men to ghosts upon the floor

Eagerly, I wish for Monday; - Can't imagine happy Sunday

Stats could show tis not a fun day - outcomes that the lost explore -

For the rare and wonderful win, shall we then find galore?

Sadness grips for evermore

 

A million faces watch and beam, uncertain rustling of blue and green

Thrilled me - filled me with hopes of outcomes not yet felt before

So that now, if Tarvaris has a beating heart, one not fleeting

'Tis the visitors knocking at the winners door -

Yes, these visitors were knocking at the winners door; -

Is this it, oh Baltimore?

 

Presently my hopes great stronger; if Ray Rice was left to wander

"Ray," said I, "Or 'Ricey, truly have mercy I implore;"

But the fact is I was sweating, on this game I shant be betting

Even in this Northwest setting, setting of forgotten lore

Here I'm worried you'll be scoring - defense don't open the door;-

Red is there, you will not score

 

Deep into the Seafense watching, while they wait for Flacco's botching

Hiking, passing passes no All-Pro would ever dare to pass before;

And the attempt was broken, while Seattle gave no token

And the only word spoken was the whispered name, "Hawthorne"

This Joe whispered, as the ball was coming back, repeated, "Hawthorne"

Merely this, and nothing more

 

Back on offense things were churning, Jackson's heart was clearly yearning

Soon again he heard a rapping, somewhat louder than before

"Sidney," he said, "Can you run around until it is that you are found?

Lynch, please stay and block and hold them off just like before;

Let me sit in the pocket a bit, so I may hit Sidney for the score?"

"Yes" he said, and nothing more

 

Open pocket Jackson flung the ball, in Rice's hands it safely falls

In steps an angry Raven, the man who rapped near the practice floor

But Lewis can't make the stop; Rice jukes him out of socks

The defense known for stately stoppage sees Rice pass the twenty-four -

The Hawk soars past two defenders, as he goes across the four -

Now in the end zone, it's a score

 

Then the ebony bird returned, feeling that their feathers burned

The offense and Ray Rice, had too much pride for Baltimore

"Though we are behind and traling," Ray said, "presently there is no failing

We come from the North of AFC, where defense is the stuff of lore!

You have insulted us greatly, and we shall return the favor of a score!"

Quoth the Hawks, "Nevermore"

 

Flacco marveled at the Hawks reckless ignorance of the chalk

Before the game, when on paper - the Ravens would ultimately outscore;

For we can not help but say, "That is why the games are played!

Do not believe it is so easy to come to our house and score! -

Raven or Cardinal - does not matter, Kam still sits you on the floor!

With such a name as 'Baltimore'"

 

But the Ravens, having patience, never ones to get complacent,

Knew that as the game went on, they still had more chances in store

Quietly, the Ravens wait - one mistake to seal fates

Would Tarvaris concentrate, or fail to throw it into the floor?

Deflected at the line of scrimmage, intercepted as before?

Quoth Tarvaris, "Nevermore"

 

Startled at the Seahawks leading, Flacco took a hefty beating

"Joe," said Harbaugh, "you lead the league in fumbles, we can take no more."

Soon the Ravens took control, a team destined for Super Bowl

Throwing it down the Seahawks throats, the Ravens be the team that score

Could Seattle take this pounding, bodies bleeding, feeling sore?

Damn this team of Baltimore

 

Across the field, Ravens smiling, Hawks distraught as touchdowns piling

Lost was the lead, the upset bid, the Ravens leading by three scores

Then upon the grass of CLink, just as the loss was on the brink

The team looked upon the crowd, the twelfth man gives a furious roar

What this mean, wet, hungry, desperate crowd abhorred -

A team that said, "No more"

 

Carroll gives his troops a rally, "Do not be a bunch of Sallies!

You play with heart, passion, and soul, until there is a final score!"

While these Ravens may be daunting, a blowout loss is forever haunting

The Hawks must make this final quarter count for more

Could they come back, not like before?

"Lets punk these bitches,' Tarvaris swore

 

Now, hungry for a feast, a single Hawk turned into Beast

Rolled it down the throats of Ravens, as if they were the Saints of yore

"Wow!" I cried, "How could he shake thee?  Could this, another quake be?"

Touchdown! Touchdown for the Hawks upon the shore!

The lead now cut to fourteen, on this game beside the shore

Quoth the Hawks, "Two more scores"

 

"Profit!" said I, just another fan.  Play my part as twelfth man

Maybe this isn't over, maybe hope remains, as the kickoff soars

Desolate, these dreams won't be, shine oh shine Emerald City -

We'll fly away as if set free - against the mighty Baltimore

Is that - is that a Flacco pick?  It is! Earl Thomas, he will score!

Quoth the Hawk, "Just one more"

 

"Profit!" said I, as minutes drained, lightly sprinkling of Seattle rain

As the Heavens opened above us - thunders roared

The Hawks need a stop on third and one, here comes Rice on the run

He's met by Mebane at the line of play, the Hawks had shut the door

With a minute left in play, could miracles come forth?

Quoth Carroll, "Lets score"

 

Clock is ticking, Ravens punt, Leon back against cold front

He hugs the ball and off he runs, a lane is open like Moses upon the shore!

"The forty, the thirty," the announcer shouts, "the twenty, the ten, TO THE HOUSE!"

Only a single point down, left no doubt - The Hawks will catch this Baltimore

This blue and green runs from our hearts, don't doubt us I implore

Quoth Carroll, "Get two more"

 

Could this be?  Go for broke?  I see no Hauschka, too soon I spoke

On this day, no overtime will there be.  Pete, you crazy whore

In his eyes, you'll see passion, his final moment now to cash in,

He'll put the games in hands of Jackson, now or never more

"Hike! Hike!" he runs play action, could they finally outscore?!

We will find out - in two days more

 

My Twitter

The Raven - By Edgar Allen Poe

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