Strengthened by recent gridiron mettle and fortified by local beliefs,

we’re incentivized by the determination of the Kansas City Chiefs. 

The injury list was extensive: many side-lined, while others play in pain,

amidst fractures, dislocations, bruises—though all for a greater gain. 

Gaining another AFC championship, traveling back for the Super Bowl,

we play the Eagles for the Lombardi, to capture football’s ultimate goal. 

Our attention turns to the desert, much excitement for which we’re brac’n,

featuring a Kelce boy on each team: Travis and, big brother, Jason.

Fighting for superior turf, the offensive playbook sketches attacks,

while Jones, Clark, and the d-line will sneak in to get a few sacks.

We’ve got receivers by committee and a defense packed with rookies—

you’ve got to factor all that in when you wager it with your bookies. 

Philly sings “fly eagle fly,” while Arrowhead cheers a native chant;

yet each team heard from critics—doubters that told them they can’t. 

But they can, they have, and they will play for those coveted rings,

whether starters with sprains and concussions or if down to our third strings. 

I wouldn’t doubt that they’ll surprise us: Ju-Ju, MVS, or Toney—

just don’t insult ‘em like Cinci’s mayor, who was a total jabroni. 

They’ll rise up to the occasion, and Coach Reid will have a few tricks.

Let’s not go down to the wire again, holding our breath as Butker kicks. 

Mahomes is our X-factor; he carries the team upon his shoulder,

Accomplishing all this at twenty-seven—you’d think he’s a whole lot older.

He encourages us to soar also, aspiring to be the best we can be,

while he concludes another season as the league’s outstanding MVP.

So get your snacks and dips ready, your choice lager, whiskey, or pale ale

as all eyes focus upon the flat screens, for the kick-off down in Glendale.

They’ll light it up in Arizona with sparks flying to the kingdom of heaven,

with a victory for Chief’s kingdom and the heroes of Super Bowl Fifty-seven.