'Twas the night before Draft, when all through the League
Everyone was trading, causing Commish fatigue;
The rookies were all ranked with precision and care,
In hopes that their player soon would be there;
The managers were nestled all snug by their Discord,
While visions of Super Bowls danced in their gourds;
And Will in his ’kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a short nap,
When out on the boards there arose such a clatter,
I sprang to my phone to see what was the matter.
Away to the forums I flew like a flash,
Clicked and refreshed and cleared up my cache.
When, what to my wondering eyes should invade,
But a last second post, and an urgent trade,
With many messages, swearing like a felon,
I knew in a moment it must be Mellon.
More rapid than eagles his messages they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, first! now, second! now, receiver Gore!
On, Cousins! on, Bostic! must get more than a four!
To the top of the round! to the top of the draft!
Now trade away! trade away! trade away aft!"
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