Twas the night before football season, when all through the house not a player was stirring not even at the Ralph, the jerseys were hung by the lockers with care, in hopes that Rex soon would be there; The fans were nestled all snug in their beds; while visions of touchdowns rushed in their heads; and Mama in her nighty, and I in my briefs, had just settled down for an end of summer roll in the sheets, when out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang to the occasion and oh boy did I "finish" the matter. Away to the tube I flew like a flash, making sure that I still had a good fantasy football draft. Picks one and two I only knew, that my picks were good through and through. When what to my wandering eyes did appear, Tyrod Taylor and the offense in high gear. With a chubby coordinator and speed roadsters in gear, I only knew Coach Roman must be here. More rapid than Tom Brady and his favorite boy toy, he whistled, he shouted, and called them with joy: "Now Shady, Now Goodwin and Taylor, On Sammy, On Woods, On Bush and Clay! To the top of the end zone to the top of them all! Now gain away, gain away , gain away all! And then in a whistle, I heard on the field, the hitting and tackling of the NFL shield. In distinct deminish, Brady ' s legacy is all but finished. Forever skewed is his game, a history tarnished in unsightly shame. Our time has come, this is our season, just wait and the Bills will win with reason. Vince Lombardi's trophy will meet a city leading to the falls and the rest of the country can suck Buffalo's big blue balls.