#hockey - Hello Poetry

Section 17 Row H seats 11 and 12 Almost every home game does he see A grey haired man with a clip board sits Two seats over and one down from me He's a scout for the bigs, Comes most games to watch Can't watch as a fan anymore They know he made it, was up with the Bruins Played defence with Old Number Four He watches intently for five minutes or so Just enough to watch each kid skate twice Then he drinks down his coffee all in one gulp and then he returns his eyes to the ice The Scout, we will call him, for lack of a name Has seen kids who've got game disappear They find out he's watching, they get all uptight And they can't play 'cause they're all tense with fear I watched for four games, got his routine down pat Watched him arrive and watch the kids skate He'd go down in the corner and stand by the glass Watching close through the plexiglass plate He stayed away from the coaches, the players as well And the parents, he'd avoid like the plague If one ever stopped him, and asked "How's my boy" He'd smile, and give an answer so vague His career ended early with a stick to the head Almost killed him, but, he was too mean His left the game early, with Wayne Maki to blame The Scout, is Edward "Ted" Green Each season he'd sit, watching game after game In arenas all over the land Some kids he'd notice, he did not come to watch They were just something that wasn't planned He'd come into town to watch a kid who could score And go home with two names on his list One a defence man, and the goalie as well But, the scorer, couldn't skate and got missed Ted, would watch and make his reports on kids Some were right, and the kid would go pro He may be a star in the minors right now But, the bigs...well, fate only knows He'd listen to parents and coaches talk of the boys Saying "My son's the next Bobby Orr" Ted would chuckle a little and not say a word He knew the kid would be heard from no more Putting pressure like that on a young players back Is like saying, "My boy will be God" From then on it's never, the talented kid I'ts the boy cursed with Orr's lightning rod Many young players get compared to the best But to say it out loud is a curse You put a red dot on the young players back He may as well leave in a hearse Ted's seen them all, coaches, players and bums Played when the game was real tough They had lighter equipment, not kevlar like now and Ted, as we know liked it rough His scratches and scribbles on the page tell a lot But to the untrained they look like a mess A pharmacy student couldn't read what he wrote Nor a court stenographer I guess He's a spotter of talent with stories to tell More of them about kids who fell short Most of them cursed with the "My kids the next..." and the name of the best in the sport Two Hundred and Ten games he watches each year Most times he's gone early on He's sees what he needs and then he packs up his stuff And by the end of the first, Ted is gone He's off on the road to another ice rink To sit and watch on the hard seats, so cold To listen as parents and coaches again Talk of greatness, it's all gotten old Terrible Ted has a warriors soul And his grey hair is thinner but, curly He has ice in his veins and a stick through his heart Too bad his playing time ended too early.

0

Jan 5, 2013

Jan 5, 2013 at 8:17 PM UTC

roger-turner

The Hockey Scout

Section 17 Row H seats 11 and 12 Almost every home game does he see A grey haired man with a clip board sits Two seats over and one down from me He's a scout for the bigs, Comes most games to watch Can't watch as a fan anymore They know he made it, was up with the Bruins Played defence with Old Number Four He watches intently for five minutes or so Just enough to watch each kid skate twice Then he drinks down his coffee all in one gulp and then he returns his eyes to the ice The Scout, we will call him, for lack of a name Has seen kids who've got game disappear They find out he's watching, they get all uptight And they can't play 'cause they're all tense with fear I watched for four games, got his routine down pat Watched him arrive and watch the kids skate He'd go down in the corner and stand by the glass Watching close through the plexiglass plate He stayed away from the coaches, the players as well And the parents, he'd avoid like the plague If one ever stopped him, and asked "How's my boy" He'd smile, and give an answer so vague His career ended early with a stick to the head Almost killed him, but, he was too mean His left the game early, with Wayne Maki to blame The Scout, is Edward "Ted" Green Each season he'd sit, watching game after game In arenas all over the land Some kids he'd notice, he did not come to watch They were just something that wasn't planned He'd come into town to watch a kid who could score And go home with two names on his list One a defence man, and the goalie as well But, the scorer, couldn't skate and got missed Ted, would watch and make his reports on kids Some were right, and the kid would go pro He may be a star in the minors right now But, the bigs...well, fate only knows He'd listen to parents and coaches talk of the boys Saying "My son's the next Bobby Orr" Ted would chuckle a little and not say a word He knew the kid would be heard from no more Putting pressure like that on a young players back Is like saying, "My boy will be God" From then on it's never, the talented kid I'ts the boy cursed with Orr's lightning rod Many young players get compared to the best But to say it out loud is a curse You put a red dot on the young players back He may as well leave in a hearse Ted's seen them all, coaches, players and bums Played when the game was real tough They had lighter equipment, not kevlar like now and Ted, as we know liked it rough His scratches and scribbles on the page tell a lot But to the untrained they look like a mess A pharmacy student couldn't read what he wrote Nor a court stenographer I guess He's a spotter of talent with stories to tell More of them about kids who fell short Most of them cursed with the "My kids the next..." and the name of the best in the sport Two Hundred and Ten games he watches each year Most times he's gone early on He's sees what he needs and then he packs up his stuff And by the end of the first, Ted is gone He's off on the road to another ice rink To sit and watch on the hard seats, so cold To listen as parents and coaches again Talk of greatness, it's all gotten old Terrible Ted has a warriors soul And his grey hair is thinner but, curly He has ice in his veins and a stick through his heart Too bad his playing time ended too early.