Flinching linemen twice cursed by the gods

with heightened anxiety,

forget the snap count.

First and twenty and goal to go,

down by six points,

just a minute remains.

–

Almost a catch, almost intercepted.

The receiver just shrugs.

He’ll get it next time.

–

The crowd grows restless.

The defense blitzes.

The QB scrambles,

but nothing is gained.

The crowd is in fury over

the lack of a penalty,

but nothing is called,

no review of the play.

–

Pausing a moment to gather himself,

the QB watches the clock tick away.

Third and twenty is like third and infinity

with 15 seconds left to the game.

–

Calmly he drifts back into the pocket and

with all kinds of time, he searches downfield…

–

A deafening roar rises to heaven,

As do the black and white referee sleeves.

Touchdown! No flags, no time or penalties

Eleven men can now taste victory.

Never before had odds been so against them.

Never did doubt creep into their minds.

Calm and cool, you cannot shake them,

with first and twenty, but all kinds of time.