Shutout
Footballguy
In John Facenda Voice:
The ticking of the Autumn clock chimed through the town, seeking response to its one constant question: “What time is it?”
Frantic fans in the stands plainly retorted ‘5 minutes remaining in the 4th quarter’, but the Autumn clock sought an expounded answer; one that was as simple as the John Fox offense, yet as complex as the hitless defender rule.
“What time is it?” it asked again as the final twenty yards of terra firma was wrestled away by the Denver crusader. Like on the mythical Island of Revis, one man stood alone in the endzone, the prize in hand, the goal achieved.
“TEBOW TIME!” responded a mile-high assembly, in perfect unison.
“TEBOW TIME, indeed!” echoes the Autumn clock. The season has now shifted and covered in a
Niagra Falls of Orange Crush, even the Broncos fan who wore a barrel could not have saved Sanchez and his mates on this night. The “Miller” had done his job; hitting the “Mark” and grinding his victim’s will into fine specs left to drift as aimlessly as his 4th quarter passes onto the field of play. Doom would be spelled D-U-M-E-R-V-I-L for the J-E-T-S on this day.
The ticking of the Autumn clock chimed through the town, seeking response to its one constant question: “What time is it?”
Frantic fans in the stands plainly retorted ‘5 minutes remaining in the 4th quarter’, but the Autumn clock sought an expounded answer; one that was as simple as the John Fox offense, yet as complex as the hitless defender rule.
“What time is it?” it asked again as the final twenty yards of terra firma was wrestled away by the Denver crusader. Like on the mythical Island of Revis, one man stood alone in the endzone, the prize in hand, the goal achieved.
“TEBOW TIME!” responded a mile-high assembly, in perfect unison.
“TEBOW TIME, indeed!” echoes the Autumn clock. The season has now shifted and covered in a
Niagra Falls of Orange Crush, even the Broncos fan who wore a barrel could not have saved Sanchez and his mates on this night. The “Miller” had done his job; hitting the “Mark” and grinding his victim’s will into fine specs left to drift as aimlessly as his 4th quarter passes onto the field of play. Doom would be spelled D-U-M-E-R-V-I-L for the J-E-T-S on this day.
