Post by TheShadow on Nov 11, 2007 8:37:23 GMT -5
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Inspired by Walt Whitman's "O Captain! My Captain," and, as Whitman was by Abraham Lincoln's assassination, by the Raiders' hard times, reader Karen Cassil sent in the following poem, which is excerpted in Sunday's paper. (A Giants reader did much the same for his team a short time ago.)
O Raiders! My Raiders!
O Raiders! my Raiders! our fearful trip is done;
McCown throws naught but INTs, Jordan can scarcely run;
The end is near, the horns I hear, the talking heads all staring,
While follow eyes the silver and black, the D once grim and daring:
But O sack! sack! sack!
O the offense fled,
Where on the field my Raiders lie,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Raiders! my Raiders! rise up and hear my yearning;
Rise up -- for you the box seats sell -- for you the Coliseum thrills;
For you fists and foam fingers wave,- for you the seething Black Hole fills;
For you they call, their eyes a-gleam, their eager faces turning;
Here Raiders! dear team!
With young Kiffin at your head!
It is some dream that on the field,
You've fallen cold and dead.
My Raiders do not answer, their lips are pale and still;
My QB cannot use his arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd in the mud, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip the poor ship comes in--only two games won;
Exult O fans, and sound O horns!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the field my Raiders lie,
Fallen cold and dead.
Posted By: The Sporting Green (Email) | November 10 2007 at 05:29 AM
Inspired by Walt Whitman's "O Captain! My Captain," and, as Whitman was by Abraham Lincoln's assassination, by the Raiders' hard times, reader Karen Cassil sent in the following poem, which is excerpted in Sunday's paper. (A Giants reader did much the same for his team a short time ago.)
O Raiders! My Raiders!
O Raiders! my Raiders! our fearful trip is done;
McCown throws naught but INTs, Jordan can scarcely run;
The end is near, the horns I hear, the talking heads all staring,
While follow eyes the silver and black, the D once grim and daring:
But O sack! sack! sack!
O the offense fled,
Where on the field my Raiders lie,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Raiders! my Raiders! rise up and hear my yearning;
Rise up -- for you the box seats sell -- for you the Coliseum thrills;
For you fists and foam fingers wave,- for you the seething Black Hole fills;
For you they call, their eyes a-gleam, their eager faces turning;
Here Raiders! dear team!
With young Kiffin at your head!
It is some dream that on the field,
You've fallen cold and dead.
My Raiders do not answer, their lips are pale and still;
My QB cannot use his arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd in the mud, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip the poor ship comes in--only two games won;
Exult O fans, and sound O horns!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the field my Raiders lie,
Fallen cold and dead.
Posted By: The Sporting Green (Email) | November 10 2007 at 05:29 AM