A late October in CNY. Through heartbreaking results our flags still fly.
A sea of Orange as fans stay true. The Halloween black is replaced with blue.
The Irish faithful may travel well. But in the heat of the Dome, may their journey's be Hell.
The Orange must dictate with their rushing attack. A .500 record we send them back.
Back to their history, when the Irish were kings. Though little remember those coveted rings.
Prepare for excuses, they knew they would lose. Yet deep down their sorrows are drowned out with booze.
This week we learn what a team we can be. As Dino reminds us, no wins come for free.
We learned not to count on any help from officials. So in order to win we must give them little.
In historical data Irish bias resides. Failures to whistle even Rudy offsides.
But I'm not here to harp on the past, that'd be silly. Reliving the Bronx would possibly kill me.
With no Touchdown Jesus to watch over his boys. Enter the Loud House and get swallowed with noise.
No Jim, Floyd, or Ernie to open the door. Yet we're all pleading "Dino, give the ball to Three Four"
In my conclusion, I'll be sure to be brief. Certain it's ending brings the reader relief.
Game-plan and discipline let's not get too cute. Yes they call it the loud house, but the plan is to mute.
Mute the Irish, maybe for good. End with a word that can't rhyme, like I said that I would.