I hate you.
How do I hate thee? Let me count the ways.
I hate thee from the end of my tail feathers to the tip of my bill. If you never existed, I’d hate you still.
Like a tech-worker fanboy, I hate from afar. I see your pass-tossers toss passes that would miss a parked car.
Your fans and your players and team full of Jakes, soon each will fall to the mighty man-drakes.
Oh, how you cry, and whimper, and moan! Whenever a rain falls over what you call home.
Though your dark, stinky city resembles a pit, you merely adopted the rain, we were born in it.
You love your trophies made of papier-mâché, patting your back with a “those were the days.”
But deep in your heart, and you know that it’s true, us Webfoots will always be better than you.