Mighty Lesnar in the Cage - An Poem

(As part of the WKR: Year in Review, this was originally posted Ootober 25th, 2010)

The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Lesnar fans that day;
The champ had ran like Flo Jo when Shane Carwin swung away,
And then when Carwin gassed in the the first, and Brock survived,
A cheer rose up among them when the DeathClutch was applied

A straggling few got off the bandwagon. The rest
Clung to his nuts tighter with an effervescent zest
They thought, "Carwin was a hulking beast, survival was the plan —
Surely we'd beat the Mexican with pillow-fisted hands."

Yes Carwin was a lumbering oaf with shady steroid past,
But even deep down they'd admit, he kicked Brock Lesnar's ass
Raining down shots upon his head, the title was his focus;
Till he was stricken with a fatal dose of lactic acidosis.

But Lesnar got up from his back, to the wonderment of all,
Soon Brock, the much despised, would be the fighter standing tall;
And just like that, he took Shane down, before we knew what happened,
Royce Gracie would be proud when that bald SOB started tappin.

No time to rest for the weary champ, he went back to training;
To focus on his striking skills, and confidence regaining;
Cause though he won decisively, one thing he couldn't efface,
That Lesnar ran a country mile when hit upon the face.

Assured that it was a one-time occurrence, his fans began to wax;
Poetically about the champ as they firmly gripped his sack.
His new foe, Cain, a fighting machine was nearly half his age,
But Lesnar fans were not undone, 'twas Brock up in the cage.

To improve himself in his next fight, Lesnar brought in Pat Barry.
Cause a juggernaut with better striking would be downright fucking scary.
To complete his repertoire and secure the inevitable win,
Lesnar grew a forest full of hair upon his manly chin.

The fight build lacked a certain flair and wasn't that exciting,
Dana White chose to market race, forget that they were fighting.
'Brown Pride' cried the Mexican who wrestled at Arizona (State),
"That ain't my style," said Lesnar. "But I will drink a cold Corona."

From the barrio arose an angry cheer, pissed at the champ's bravado
They yelled "Tu acabas de chingar al Mexicano equivocado";
To translate that to English terms would make Carlin turn beet red;
Just be assured Cain y La Raza were coming for Lesnar's head.

The night finally upon us to witness Cain's destruction,
One could hardly breathe as Herb Dean went through all pre-fight instruction;
Lesnar and Cain to come to blows for the undisputed crown;
My heart was beating out my chest as my lady friend said "Calm down".

 

Lesnar came out like a raging bull, but he was no Deniro
"The Deer Hunter" was going down, a future fallen hero.
Cain dizzied Lesnar early on and made him spin and twirl,
Blow after blow like a day on-set with Tito's favorite girl.

By the time Herb Dean stepped in, the crowd was cheering loudly;
UFC President Dana White stood beaming, smiling proudly (oh wait).
Cain won the belt for himself, his team and more importantly his race,
While Lesnar had to deal with the Undertaker in his face.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright,
The UG is estastic, and Sherdog's hearts are light,
Even Coker is laughing, and all the Brockophobes shout;
But there is no joy among Lesnar fans— mighty Brock was knocked the fuck out.

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