The Ballad of the "Boys in Blue and Silver"

“The ballad of the ‘Boys in blue and silver”  by Karl Boyd

The Dallas Cowboys are in shock; the score stands five to three.
With only thirty seconds on the clock, what will the outcome be?
Although both teams have fought like hungry jackals, still, there are those that gripe and moan.

With every missed or broken tackle, you can hear them hiss and groan.
Then someone that was hackled, threw a slimy Mackerel. (It hit me in the knee).

Yet in their hearts; no omission, they know their pride is true;
They are the loyal commission of the silver and the blue.
Each one has seen this scene before, and knows deep in his mind;There is no one quite like Romo, the leader of our crew,

To hit the tight end like a pro, and come from far behind.
Their opponents are the Redskins, those guys from old D.C.
There has been a blood feud ‘tween them, since nineteen sixty-three.

So far, the ‘Boys have been successful, through almost every game.
“There is no doubt,” a shout echoes on the breeze; “This time will be the same.”

That poor fan is booed from across the human sea, but being true supporters, ‘Boys fans hardily agree.
Both teams have such good defenses; the first quarter saw no score.

Then, the battle grew intense; but, the outcome was a bore.
The ‘Boys threw two interceptions; the Redskins fumbled twice.
Although both offenses tried their best, like every time before,
And had such good intentions, neither one could roll the dice.

The guys cheered like little boys, and drank like great big men;Several beautiful ladies, who really love their ‘Boys, stare and glare, tear their hair,and sometimes swear), pout and shout, and carry out their own brand of disdain.

The tension is a-building, causing a few weak-heartened fans to leave.
Those staying until the end know those jerks are not true fans or willing to believe.

Some boozer brewed, “They think we’re screwed. To hell with them, let’s do the wave again.”

Halftime brought the marching bands. The beer was there to flow.
Everyone clapped and cried, “The ‘Boys can pull this off,” - each had a golden glow.
“Let’s give them one more chance to tighten up their pants.

This game they would not blow.
And when the dust is settled, the whole damned stands can dance.”
The ‘Boys came from the locker room, ready for a score,

They knew their fans were hungry, “Just listen to them roar!”
“Let’s go get ‘em, guys,” one southern cowboy “say’d”.
The other players cannot offer more; so onto the field they pour.

Their eyes are firm,their faces stern,you know that they are staid.
The Redskins felt the same; they came out pretty pumped.
The “Boys fans knew they couldn’t win. “Just listen to the chumps!”

“They may think that they are winners,” a hardy fan did shout,
“But though the ‘Boys may take their lumps, they still will pull this out!”

Turning to his buddies, he added, “Let’s get them o’er the hump!”
The ‘Boys got on the board first - cause for yet another drink.

The Redskins matched their thirst, and smiled, thinking they were in the pink.
Another fan gasped encouragement, “Just give us one more drive;

“Keep the momentum going, ‘Boy’s, we know you can survive.
“This game is still within your grasp, and every Redskin stinks!”

Then the Redskins pinned their opponents, deep in their own end zone.
The Redskins’ fans were a-cheering, while the others pissed and moaned.

When the fullback couldn’t gain an inch, they thought the ‘Boys might fail.
There was even one big argument that put both fans in jail.
And everyone was wondering, “Who will go their bail?”

The ‘Skins fans did some catcalls; I heard a few loud Boos!
The ‘Boys fans did some pratfalls; it seems they’d had some brews.

But then, the plot began to thicken, and ‘Boys fans got the news, They knew their team wasn’t chicken, this game they would not loose.
Try like all the dickens, and the ‘Skins will pay their dues.”

Then to the ‘Boys loyal fans, a big disappointment came;
The Redskins scored a safety. Some thought “There goes the game.”

But, when the free kick was sent their way, the Redskins blew their chance.
The receiver muffed the kick, and the ball the hardy ‘Boys retained,

And to a man, every fan, they danced and danced, and danced.
The ‘Boys have a great young kicker; “Germaine” is his name;
“Just a few more yards, Romo, and Germaine the “Skins” will tame!”

It seems the ‘Boys are all fired up; they gain the needed yards.
Now ‘tis up to Germaine, hero if successful and his fair fare share of fame.

“Kick it true,” some ‘Boys fan shouts, “And leave them all in shards!”
The holder, he is ready, the fans are breathing fast.
The Redskins called, “Time Out,” to take away his gas.

‘Boys fans shouted, “Chicken”, and cheered Germaine’s name;
The ‘Skins would surely take a lickin’, before the time could pass.

Germaine should not, would not, could not miss, and blow away this game.
A stir of admiration floats through this holy place,
The height of adoration shines on every woman’s face.

Although time it is a-fleeting, they never have a doubt,
Barring any cheating, they’ll win this whole damned race,
And remaining undefeated; will pull this puppy out.
Then, time out it is over and the ‘Boys all take their stanch;

“Keep those Redskins from Germaine; don’t let them have a chance.”
The center snaps the ball; the holder caught it clean.
A muffled roar comes from the bench, as Germaine’s eyes do gleam.

Although not unexpected, Germaine has been elected, to win this for his team.
Like a brown comet, the football sails away; straight t’ward two stout uprights.

Loyal fans watch in awe and joy, their jaws are clenched real tight.
Their hopes and dreams of victory are pinned on Germaine’s leg.

Germaine’s eyes are having trouble, his hurting leg held straight,
The ball looks like a bubble. “Please miss,” the Redskins beg.
As on that oblong spheroid flew, Germaine was oh so proud.

A shout! At first one or two, now a few, and on it grew, until it is very loud!
Suddenly, everybody knew, “Damn that ball, it’s hooking to the right!”

And when that despicable flight is over, Germaine’s head hangs lowly bowed;
While desperate cries of derision go flying through the night.
That evening there are many celebrations, everyone has a blast;

The joy, it is contagious, the beer will never last.
So if you want a cold one, you had better get there fast.
Cheers are still a-ringing; you can hear some fans still boast;
How Germaine’s try was truly honest, but somehow, hit the post.

Now, back in Dallas, Texas, there is no fun at all;
Several fans still sit here a-cursing that stupid, stupid ball.
“The football was inflated wrong,” one true-blue ‘Boys fan said.
While others gathered here, who thought they’d have a ball,

Instead will sing a boozy song, and sit and shake their head.
Amid the jeers, almost in tears, Germaine is trying to hide his fears.

Ultimately, the solution is very, very clear.  But to him, the final resolution still seems to be unfair.
No one can e’er find out. He can not let the secret out.
Last night, he drank three beers, with a bevy of lovely dears,

Today – the end result: A severe case of the gout!
My father told me this story, when I was twelve years old,
‘Bout the Cowboys glory; so haughty and oh, so bold.
They’ve won a slew and lost a few, of that I can’t deny.

To a loser goes the taste of tears, while winning brings you gold,
But you won’t mind those nasty jeers, if you go out and try.
For glory is so fleeting, and losing may cause you shame.

And there are those that will sit and spit, (or say “aw, s---“), or sigh and cry, and often curse your name.
Remember; you can never win, if you don’t start, or try with all your heart, to get into the game.

So, as you read this gem, have sympathy in your heart,
For those who try and fail, and try again and seldom garner fame.
But, with truth and consequence, as on our team we cheer,

And swear them true allegiance, so time-honored and so dear,
As on the field they bravely battle for glory or lasting fame,
One thing we should all settle, and always make so clear,
Regardless of the final, you have to love this game!

There is a winner/loser; ’tis the nature of the fight.
Now, you may be a boozer, at road games or at home.
But, don’t you think it is pathetic, wherever you may roam.

Some people just don’t get it, though you try with all your might.
Like a big bulldozer, it simply is a fright.
I swear upon the Lord’s Holy name, and hope you’ll do the same.

No one person is to blame.  Love and glory are the aim.
Although you may complain, no truer words shall e’er reign,
And the moral of this story, somehow will remain:
After all, no mater the ball, A game is; just a game!