Tuesday, November 16, 2004

The Big Game

Watching the big game.
Why so important?
Why so much focus?
Why do we care at all?
Why do we come?
Why do we sit
watching that 0-9 team?

Why do we come?
Why do we cheer?
Why such passion?
The answer is simple.
Just look in their face,
when mothers rejoice
to see only son achieve
after sitting on the bench alone.

The reason we care
is because we care
for this team we’ve
made part of our life.
When they overcome
we rejoice.
When they lose
kill the coaches.

We care what happens.
We know both teams.
One is our bliss.
At one we throw eggs.
A fight between brothers
is filled with true passions.
Fueled by memories of men once boys
who played on distant green fields.

The big play you make
in the big game
creates memories for life.
The team 0 and nine
that wins on a fluke
creates legend larger than life.
To be king of the big game
greatest pleasure of life.
©Presbypoet, November 15, 2001
A poem for those preparing to watch
the Big Game.
You know who you are.
Presbypoet - November 16, 2004


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