Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten drafts—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping on my chamber door“
’Tis some quarterback,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—      
Only this and nothing more.”
___

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the veranda.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—the past I sought to borrow
For my quarterback of tomorrow—sorrow for the lost Montana
For the rare and radiant passer whom the angels name Montana—     
Nameless here for evermore.
___

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each would-be QB
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
’Tis some quarterback entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late quarterback entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
This it is and nothing more.”
____

    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—    
Lance was there and many more.
___

    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
Which quarterback would lead us, lead us to the golden door,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Joe?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Joe!”—      
Merely this and nothing moe.
___

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that QB at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what threat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
 ’Tis the draft and nothing more!”
___

  Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In stepped a stately QB of THE Ohio State,
“I’m a passer as you see, but a runner I can be!”
“And I read the field as a general who is great!”
And with that he perched upon a bust of Namath,
just above my chamber door—    
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
___

Once again there came a tapping, a persistent tapping rapping at my chamber door-
In walked a sludgy, mushy QB, who looks like he drives a truck named Mac
“I’m not mobile like a cat, but buying time’s where its at!”
“And I fit the ball into the tiniest crack!”
And with that he crawled upon a bust of Norm Snead just above my chamber door—    
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
___

One last time there came a-knocking, like a crazy Gronk a-Gronking
The last QB who was standing, was green horn who can dance
“I can read coverages best of all, and I stand straight and tall, I throw the pass just like a lance”
“Pay no mind to my lack of starts, I’ll give the O a 2nd and 3rd chance”
And with that he leapt upon a bust of Tarkington just above my chamber door—   
Perched, and sat, and nothing more. 
___

So now what of the clamour for a QB we enamour, will we pick the one that no one has surpassed?
Should we pick the one who’s fast, the one who may not last, the one named Fields who reminds of QBs past?
Or should we go with Jones named Mac, who may end up on his back, as protections fall apart, and the line cracks?Last shot will be Lance, he can throw and he can dance, but needs more work before the die is cast.
___

As I ponder weak and weary of a stud we need so dearly
I cannot think so clearly
But at least Mel Kiper’s head goes back in his box.