ORGANIZED C(RHYME)

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The NFL is doing well

according to Commish Goodell.

But Roger has some things to sell,

he may be lying, we can’t tell.

His smirking, tightlipped pasty face

betrays a business in disgrace.

The mug shots of a player’s face

foretell another criminal case.

They treat their workers with disdain,

their only goal financial gain.

They urge their men “Ignore the pain.”

“It really won’t affect your brain.”

The bad press they had been receiving

when they saw some sponsors leaving,

spurred their lawyers to conceiving

plans to end the widows’ grieving.

It’s three yards and a cloud of dust.

For the broken heads they’ve set up a trust.

Admit mistakes if so they must.

They never lied, their cause was just.

No matter they were forced to cop

a plea they hope will finally stop

the rumors that made sponsors drop

their ads, which brought financial flop.

Then more bad news, the film Concussion

reignited a discussion

of the ways the league was shushin’

whistleblowers who left them blushin’.

They finally decided, like big tobacco,

the scientists’ claims weren’t really whacko.

Though their scheme began to crack oh

they’ll mend quicker than Joe Flacco.

With good P.R. they will reclaim

fanatics of their tarnished game.

To football fans it’s all the same:

“A case of beer, forget the blame.”

For fans can’t wait for “first and goal,”

“pile up the yards,” “it’s ball control.”

Forget the past they’re on a roll.

Please just bring on the Super Bowl.