Twas the night before the Super Bowl, the next champ in the house.
No room for mistakes, except those from Strahan's mouth.
The pocket for Brady will be protected with care.
The difference will be if New York's front four can get in there.
On both sides players are nestled, all snug in their beds.
Finally—two teams without players who are wanted by feds.
Even mothers of players during breaks can catch fame.
For their son's NFL-sized hunger, Ma and Campbell's will tame.
Tomorrow at 6:30, nothing else will really matter.
Except what's more important—a good seat or your bladder?
You might be at a friend's, and the party will begin.
But unfortunately, those people who don't care are let in.
You will drink lots of beer and eat food you probably shouldn't...
But be happy you aren't that guy who made a bet, and pay couldn't.
Funny commercials and halftime shows are sure to excite,
As will guys who brought their girlfriends and all game are forced to fight.
Validated predictions will be proclaimed with pride,
While those who were wrong swear they never picked a side.
Someone will call them out, claiming they heard a bet played,
But they'll be met with excuses, like "the spread was never made."
Regardless of the party, whether it be fun or lame,
History is upon us, and will be made in this game.
The Patriots have one left until perfection they taste,
But the Giants too have an opportunity they don't want to waste.
In closing, let's go—the game is almost here.
So go sleep, wake up, tune in,and crack a beer.