L.D. Stanley

 The Brownies had it in the bag that autumn Thursday eve

They were up a couple touchdowns. It was late enough to leave

Pittsburgh tossed a screen pass left and ran it out of bounds

Their quarterback was hit again and taken to the ground

You could tell he didn’t like it; he’d been taken down enough

And he wasn’t very clever, and he wasn’t very tough

So he grabbed Myles Garrett’s helmet and he twisted Garrett’s head

It didn’t have to matter if he said the thing they said

There’d been ample instigation because Garrett wasn’t taking

Shit from some punk-ass QB who’d spent the evening shaking

A helmet tugging match ensued that Garrett quickly won

But Mason Rudolph loved to lose and so he wasn’t done

Garrett while restrained and calming, clearly in retreat

Saw Rudolph coming back for more he so loved getting beat

He was charging round the corner all saliva, rage and tears:

A 14-year-old on the rag who’d had too many beers

So Garrett let him have it. Dropped that helmet like a bomb

Rudolph threw his hands up high and turned and hollered, “Mom!”

Everybody shit their pants. It seemed he should be dead

But Myles had used the padded part to whap him on the head

He hadn’t even dinged him. Was a pillow fight at worst

The referees all huddled: What’s on second, Who’s on first

And though the Brownies won the game, it didn’t feel like that

There was no joy in Cleveland after Garrett swung the hat

But more than Rudolph shattered on the night the helmet fell

That arcing shit-black missile blew tradition all to hell

Momentum made a U-turn and a long-lived curse did break

The Steelers never won another ball game on the lake.