This time around the masses stroke their lyres.
Bread and circuses. Brats and quarterbacks.
Collective gaze, frozen on the arena field,
Witnesses what passes now for glory’s deeds,
A falling record: the most yards ever gained
By a red-shirt freshman running-back
In the second half of a game away
Played on artificial grass, and under lights,
On October‘s last odd-numbered Saturday.

But NO! GOD Please! The yellow flag was thrown.
The clock’s run out of time. The play is void.
The record standing stands. The masses mourn.
Oh the tragedy, the tragedy.
Oh the humanity! Pass another beer.

R. G. Bell

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/as-rome-burns/