A eulogy for the unmissed

 So the NFL has finally announced it is killing the Pro Bowl, aka The Greatest Spectacle In Groin Pull Avoidance. This would seem to call for a few brief remarks.

Eulogy for the Unmissed, you can call this. Requiem for Kinda-Sorta Football. And no matter what the late great Dan Jenkins used to say ("Don't write me nothin' that rhymes"), rhyming not only will be allowed but encouraged.

So, here goes ...

"Pro Bowl, We Hardly Watched Ye"

Strike up a song now, but don't make it moody.

Make it instead

All Hawaiian and fruity.

Like shirts with pineapples, 

And papaya and ‘nana.

And lots of rum punches

For Pete Carroll’s cabana.

Hey, look, it's ol' Peyton,

Throwing a pass.

It floats through the air like combustible gas.

I wonder who'll catch it,

Or who'll even try?

Or will he look up

And say, "My, what a sky!"?

Oh, Pro Bowl, oh, Pro Bowl,

We'll miss you, my boy.

Bill B. in a lei, 

And A. Reid eating poi.

And as Brady fades back,

And says "Guys, touch me not,"

Some dude in Mom's basement

Will say “So NOW what?”