Poem. 7.6.01

THIS SPORTING LIFE

So here comes another curveball,
curling across the plate at 72 mph,
and I’m catching them all…it just takes practice.
And I’m good at it, now. But I’m tired.
And we’re at the bottom of the ninth,
they’ve got two outs,
the count is 3 and 2 on this guy
and he’s expecting the damn curve,
so let’s surprise him.
Here’s the signal for the low, inside strike:
C’mon, baby, straight into my glove.

I love that plop, that smack of leather-on-leather.
Or the solid whack of driver on golf ball.
Or the whoosh of basketball into nothin’-but-net.
Nail the landing.
Spike the pigskin.
Cross the finish line.
And feel so much satisfaction…
’cause the competition’s a killer.

Look, I’m running the 4-minute mile
in three-point-two;
I think this is my personal best.
And I want to take a victory lap and
have you drape the garland around my neck,
like a hug.
How am I doing this without your high-five
as I round the bases?
I’ll gladly endure the locker room sting of your
snapped wet towel on my bottom.
Go on, douse my head with a bucket of icy Gatorade!
Spray cheap champagne in my eyes!

See, I want to celebrate with you.
And if there’s defeat to be faced,
I want it to be your chest into which I weep,
your shoulder on which I rest my head.
I want your hand to reach down and lift me up.
Your laugh motivates me.
Your smile inspires me.
And you know I will always make
the same effort for you.
We are each other’s coach,
each other’s cheerleader.

I’m not out on the field alone, y’know,
not by any stretch.
This is a team endeavor, and I’m getting
amazing assists from my ‘mates.
But I miss you, nevertheless…
you are not expendable.

And here is the uncontestable final score:
Because it’s challenging, even when it’s easy;
Because it’s fun, even when it’s tough;
Because it’s rewarding in every way,
even though the rules are hard to follow;
I play life so well when I play it with you.