'Twas the Week Before Christmas

'Twas the week before Christmas, when all through New Meadowlands

Not a Giant's face nervous, not even red Tom Coughlin's;

The 4th-quarter clock ticked before Giants' fans' stares,

In hopes the division title soon would be theirs;

The broadcasters were nestled all snug in their booth,

While whispers of 4 p.m. games danced through bluetooth;

Down 31-10, yes, I reached for my cap,

And made plans to retire for a long winter's nap,

When out on the field there arose such a clatter,

A deep pass to Celek, the fact of the matter.

Away to the endzone he flew like a flash,

Right past Justin Tuck in his 61-yard dash.

Signs of life on the sidelines barely started to show

It was still quite a long shot, after all, as you know.

When what appeared to surprised special teams players' stupor

But an onsides kick pulled in by one Riley Cooper!

Then out came a quarterback, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be Mike Vick.

Less rapid than Eagles the Giants they came,

And Vick scrambled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"No, Webster! no, Cofield! No. Here's somethin' for ya!

No, Phillips! no, Bullock! no, Umenyiora!"

With their lackluster prevent, backed up to the wall

Vick dashed this way! dashed that way! dashed away all!

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So in to the end-zone the quarterback flew,

With a 35-yard scrable, and a 4-yard sneak too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard from the stands

The overwhelming silence of shell-shocked Giants fans.

And while shaking my head, without turning around,

Down to the 36 yard line, Eli came with a bound.

He was dressed all in blue, from his head to his foot,

And this drive seemed to make all our chances caput.

After 2nd and 6, the D forced a third down

Then a procedure penalty knocked the Giants back out of town.

Tom Coughlin -- how he panicked! his dimples how ruddy!

His nose looked like roses, or a cherry that's cruddy!

His droll little mouth was drawn open with woe,

And the hue of his cheeks was as red as Bordeaux;

And in Eli's frustration, we clearly could see,

He threw up hands, which encircled his head like a wreath.

Andy Reid held his playbook o'er his little round belly,

That shook, when he schemed, like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right cunning old coach,

And I laughed when I saw they had time left to poach.

A clearing of his throat and a play call to Vick,

Soon gave me to know they'd move down the field quick;

Vick spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

33 yard run, then 22, as he turned with a jerk,

And holding the football, cocked back by his nose

And giving a pump fake, down to Maclin he throws;

So we're going to overtime, but no, wait -- what's this?

Did Matt Dodge punt to Jackson, who just made everyone miss?

As time expired, the comeback complete, Eagles win, out of sight!

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!