The outlook wasn't happy for the Atlanta Birds that day:
The score said "One and three" with the season in decay.
And then when Julio died at first, and SJax did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the Bird fans of the game.
A no-name bunch got up to go deep in despair. The rest
Were bruised and battered. Sadly, the Falcons' best.
They thought, if only Roddy could get but a chance,
We'd turn our season around, now, with Roddy able to prance.
But an ankle bothered Roddy, as did a hamstring,
The ankle kept-a-shouting, but the hammy was a new thing.
So upon that horrid news, the Bird fans grimly sat,
For there seemed little chance of Roddy playing like that.
But a bye week cures all ails, to the wonderment of all,
And hamstrings, much despis-ed, were just tender, that's all.
And when the gates had opened, and all saw what had occurred,
There stood Roddy White, standing strong like a new bird.
Then from sixty-thousand strong there rose a joyous yell,
It rumbled all through Peachtree; it was prob'ly heard in Hell.
It bounced off Stone Mountain and recoiled upon the Dome,
For Roddy, mighty Roddy, was playing in his home.
There was ease in Roddy's manner as he lined up in the slot,
There was calm in Roddy's voice as he told the fans, "Worry not."
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly gave a wave,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt, that Roddy was the fave.
Ten million eyes were on him as he played like he was hurt,
Five million tongues decried him as his playing time was curt.
Then while the quarterback had barely time to make a throw,
Defiance gleamed in Roddy's eye, and knew that he must go.
It was now 4th down; the ball came floating through the air,
Sadly it was far too high, even for Roddy's hair.
A tricky play it was, indeed; close by, the ball sped,
"I can't catch that," said Roddy. "Turnover!" the ref said.
From their couches, full with "owners", there went up a muffled roar.
Roddy was now done for the day; his hamstring was too sore.
"Kill them! Kill the coaches!" someone shouted in the stand.
And it's likely they'd-a-killed them had not Roddy raised his hand.
With a smile you couldn't miss, great Roddy's visage shined,
He would continue to play hurt, because his great team was behind.
He signaled to the coach, and once more he joined the fray,
Before long he was hurt again, and now he couldn't play.
"Why?!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered why,
But one calming Tweet from Roddy sent the anger all to die.
They saw it from his side, they heard him on his pain,
it was no longer a secret; it wasn't 'just' a strain.
The bye week came and went, and Roddy's muscles clenched in hate,
The free week off was useless, now Roddy was cursed by fate.
And now the quarterback had but naught to catch the ball,
Roddy, mighty Roddy, wasn't dressed out this week at all.
Oh, somewhere in this cursed land the sun is shining bright,
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere, hearts are light.
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout,
But there is no joy in Atlanta, mighty Roddy is ruled out.
Don't know why I thought of this, but I borrowed bits and pieces of the original to try and keep it old-fashioned sounding. The ending paragraph was appropriate.
Roddy White had a 133 consecutive game streak that is now over. I hate it for him because he's been the Falcons iron man throughout hit time here.
Hopefully the extra week of rest will have Roddy ready for the home stretch, because we're desperately gonna need him at full strength.