"bleachers" poems
What luxury to get mad
about last night's basketball loss
and watch the full moon descending
at the speed the earth turns.
Things could get worse
personally and for the community.
Bombings, killings, anomie
boiling frogs and witches cursing.
The changing climate,
typhoons in the Philippines,
volcanoes and tsunamis, WWII which I missed,
Thanksgiving nor'easter, Easter twister.
What abundance to fast or feast,
your choice, stay inside by the stove
or go outside, climb the mountainside.
Live in a city or small town.
So I raged at the coaches
for their lazy zone defense
like an alien in the bleachers
unable to affect the outcome.
When my sons came home
I yelled at them too. What opulence
to be angry about nothing of consequence
neither stopped by the cops nor slipped on the ice.
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 6:13 AM UTC
I stood on those old bleachers
at that basketball game.
my friends stood around me
huddled close
but I was alone
so alone
so very alone.
I can't relate to them.
I can't pretend to be happy.
I can't pretend I'm not thinking of you.
I can't make conversation
because I'm too awkward.
I can't cheer
and pretend I know how to play a game I don't care about.
I can't pretend I don't remember you sitting right there
on the bottom of the bleachers
talking to the one person that hurt me most.
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 12:14 AM UTC
"You touched my fingertips.
I felt it. My heart skipped a beat.
Taking hold of my hand. It stopped.
The high school child in me embraced
the playtime once again.
Sitting on a park bench thinking of our bleachers
at the Friday night football games.
Now we cheer for the pigeons as they fight
for the bread crumbs.
It's all so beautiful, only different times.
We are here still together, that's all that really
matters.
Beautiful to reminisce, grateful that
we can.
To kiss each others lips, and start our hearts
pumping once again."
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 11:34 PM UTC
I used to be Bruno Mars, you can COUNT ON ME
I used to be Ed Sheeran who'll be there 'til we're 70
I was Avril Lavigne who said I LOVE YOU
But not All Time Low, I ain't MISSING YOU
I'm Against the Current, burning a little BRIGHTER
Like Bleachers, I WANNA GET BETTER
Like Big Time Rush, I'm HALFWAY THERE
Like Taylor Swift, WE ARE NEVER EVER GETTING BACK TOGETHER
Sep 1, 2017
Sep 1, 2017 at 1:04 PM UTC
Distance brings proportion. From here
the populated tiers
as much as players seem part of the show:
a constructed stage beast, three folds of Dante's rose,
or a Chinese military hat
cunningly chased with bodies.
"Falling from his chariot, a drunk man is unhurt
because his soul is intact. Not knowing his fall,
he is unastonished, he is invulnerable."
So, too, the "pure man"-"pure"
in the sense of undisturbed water.
"It is not necessary to seek out
a wasteland, swamp, or thicket."
The opposing pitcher's pertinent hesitations,
the sky, this meadow, Mantle's thick baked neck,
the old men who in the changing rosters see
a personal mutability,
green slats, wet stone are all to me
as when an emperor commands
a performance with a gesture of his eyes.
"No king on his throne has the joy of the dead,"
the skull told Chuang-tzu.
The thought of death is peppermint to you
when games begin with patriotic song
and a democratic sun beats broadly down.
The Inner Journey seems unjudgeably long
when small boys purchase cups of ice
and, distant as a paradise,
experts, passionate and deft,
hold motionless while Berra flies to left.
4.6k
it's a friday night and i am sat at the top of the bleachers with three packs of maltesers i told the cashier were for my friends with a blurry grin and the hot chocolate in my hands lied. it's lukewarm and tastes of milk, not sweets, and the taste of it still taints my lips because i'm forcing myself to drink it anyways. the stars are yellow set against navy hues and they're blinking down at me.
there's announcers shouting something about the game occurring on the field but i'm not listening, never listening, never apathetic or empathic enough to want to. the music blares, cheers roar, announcers boom, the scoreboard flashes- it's cold enough to be huddled beneath blankets but i've only got a sweatshirt hiding my hands, hiding my fingers, hiding me. my ribs shiver and the ghosts in the spaces between them gather closer for a warmth that won't come. the moon says hello to me and i struggle to catch enough air to say it back.
my friends are nowhere to be found and i can't feel my fingertips and the flavor of lukewarm hot chocolate leaves me and i'm closing my eyes, shutting them tight, disconnecting.
there's suddenly no one here, just me and the blackness behind my eyelids. it's like i'm watching humans but never being one of them. maybe i'm meant to be an alien- maybe that one star blinking at me is a planet welcoming me home- maybe if i lay my lungs to rest they'll leave me be.
i can feel my heart giving up on me.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 9:03 PM UTC
H
e
r
e we stand
rocking in each other’s sweat
and frothy anticipation
we sell our individuality
and purchase-
The Personality
a seething mass of vivid
B
l
u
e
watery voices
bathing the bleachers with
rival cruelty.
patriotic camaraderie.
our future residing on the chasm
that is the
1
0
0
y
a
r
d line.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 2:31 AM UTC
This morning I rose before the sun,
Stretched slowly and yawned wide,
Then drove to the skate park,
knowing it would be empty this early.
I skated, really skated,
braver away from others' eyes.
Others trickled in over the hours.
Sitting, resting on the bleachers
A question from another,
"why is no one skating?"
I, confused, reply incredulously
"Why are YOU not skating?"
His explanation saddens me.
He doesn't skate,
is twenty years old,
and so feels it's too late.
I'm 26, I tell him,
I just started and I'm terrible.
It's true.
I'm unsure of myself
and my form
is
off
but I'm trying.
We have this one life,
one chance.
Why would you not try
for something
you've always wanted to do
or something you love?
You don't have to be good,
but ****
you do have to try.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
I used to be unique.
Kool-Aid hair dye and all.
Boys wrote my name on bathrooms stalls.
I swore at teachers.
I drank ***** behind the bleachers.
I puked at football games on cheerleaders.
I had black eyes and cigarette burns and soccer thighs.
I used to wear my shirt undone.
I used to have fun.
Now I own a 6-room house,
a 4-door car,
a water-dispensing fridge,
bell jars.
Also, religion,
caffeine addiction,
magazine subscriptions,
diazepam prescriptions,
goldfish,
900 pairs of shoes,
PVA glue,
a self-inflicted curfew,
sexually transmitted virtue,
and many, many cats.
All this between walls painted in 6 muted shades of deja-vu
from whence I commence my pin-cushion voodoo.
I sleep in pajamas.
I set an alarm clock and my snooze allowance never exceeds 4 minutes.
I spend my mornings yawning
through thick oatmeal,
********** in the dark.
I work in a bank
in an office
on a phone,
making friends with dead ends.
I come home to wash, rinse, and repeat,
undress in the dark,
and brush away the question marks
of hair in the bathtub.
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 7:49 AM UTC
a high school football game.
the field is ablaze with juicy roses
and doves.
the athletes suddenly drop thier pencils,
their coughing hands made of melting wax.
all the trombones are falling apart, and
the flute players are losing their *******
under the bleachers, throwing away secrets.
heartbeats cracking broomsticks, the nuns
were always hitchhikers with resounding
gag reflexes.
i sail forward, snatching the time bomb
from the quarterback, snuffing out
a pall mall on his right eyelid.
the dead angel is summoned to slay
the horrible hippopotamus. she is ancient.
she has a mouth full of cavities and peace
in her veins.
the truth is a piercing thing, whose bitter tongue will decay me.
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 2:07 PM UTC
You talk to your girlfriend.
She is angry
She's crazy about something you said
Because she does not understand your mood as I do
I am in my bedroom
It's a typical Tuesday night.
I hear the kind of music she does not like
And she will never know your story like me. '
But she wears short skirts
I wear t-shirts
She is the captain of joy
And I'm in the stands
Dreaming of the day you wake up
And discover that what you are looking for has always been here
If you can see, it's me who understands you
I'm here all the time, why do not you see?
You are next to me
You are next to me
Stroll the streets with you and your worn jeans
I can not help but think that this should be so
Laugh on a park bench and think of me
Hey, it's not that easy
And you have a smile that could enlighten the whole city
I have not seen it for a long time since she knocked you out
You say you’re good
I know you better than that
Hey, what are you doing with a girl like that?
She wears high heels
I'm wearing slippers
She's a happy captain and I'm in the bleachers
If you see, I understand you
I'm here all the time, why do not you see?
You are next to me
Wait and wait at your back door
All this time, as you could not know
Baby you belong to me
You are next to me
Oh, I remember you came home in the middle of the night
I'm the one who makes you laugh
If you know you're about to cry
And I know your favorite songs.
And you tell me about your dreams
I think I know where you belong
I think I know you’re mine
Do not you see that I understand you?
I'm here all the time, why do not you see?
You are next to me
Wait and wait at your back door
All the time
How can you not know that?
Baby you belong to me
You are next to me
You are next to me
Have you ever thought that?
You are next to me
You are next to me
Sep 23, 2019
Sep 23, 2019 at 10:34 AM UTC
Hope is the morning sun
Peering in through my kitchen window
As I sip fresh steaming coffee alone.
Hope is the last workday before
My next day off, when I’m happy
For once, to wish away the hours.
Hope is awkward like a high school dance,
Like two virgins kissing
Beneath the gymnasium bleachers.
Hope is a grocery list fastened
To my refrigerator with a free magnet
Advertising a divorce lawyer.
Hope is a cracked wine glass, packed away
In a moving box that traveled from Kentucky to Illinois –
Just another casualty of the long journey.
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 11:24 PM UTC
There's a certain kind
That holds you hostage
Way up there in the bleachers
In a red-light district
Cold and cheap
It lures you because you're lurable
Attach and you're stuck up there
In a certain kind
Of dilapidated ivory tower
It's only later on
When you're broken
When the nights have woven
Their history and the light
Has drained
Only when you're pushed out
Only when you're shoved off
Only then does the truth
Begin to talk
Until then it's been silent
Though gradually loosing appetite
For despair, denial, dilemma
Only when unhooked
Does that fierce, quite dismissal
Begin to beg for something else
Only then does
A certain other kind
Begin to go wild for itself
You wonder how yourself
Moldy and molting
And mad with lies
Had so deceived its own
You wonder how
If there is a god
S'he coulda watched you bleed
With self-betrayal
And sat there idle
While you slowly crumbled
But admit it
You were terribly cocky up there
In the pink and belly-full
***** and hookered
If G O D woulda spoken
You woulda spit in the face of divinity
And you probably did
So that certain kind
Watched and waiting
For another
Certain kind
To choke the bejasus outa ya
'til you slowly faded to full stop
And dropped to your knees
To a certain other kind
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 6:12 AM UTC
Quiet are the fields
with ghosts
from pennants past
the aces
and cutters
set idly away
from the maple
spread fall
soft sounds
of Sunday
(chilling on the boneyard)
telling tales of
validated stars
and wheel house legends
the rally cap sluggers
with mahogany eyes
Mustard colors
in floating mists
give a hallowed glow
to sublime skies
scattered walkers
trip to the hole
their spit buckets
and spigots
pressed loosely into
pure life form
bikers and loners
and curious coffee goers
mill about the horn
whispering numbers
from an old
Keelman heaving
Alley lookers
and Mendoza lines
screachers, bleachers
from years gone by
dancing fingers
and cracks at the bat
moonshots
(from the big time Timmy Jim)
the 9th inning gunner
with sinker
and slider
and imposing
brush back ballz
the game day citizen
and dugout warrior
who lit it all up
in Rockwell fame
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 11:28 PM UTC
I love the girl who is too young to smoke cigarettes but lights them anyway. She sits on the high school bleachers at 9 on a Sunday night, gets tired of the smoke in her eyes, and tosses eventual death in the trash can.
I love the girl who has never enjoyed the taste of alcohol but feels like Holly Golightly when she holds a glass of Cabernet so she drinks it anyway. She sits in her grandfather’s lounge chair on a Monday night, plays the songs he taught her on the ***** neglects her English essay, and leaves the red remains in the bottle.
I love the girl who cannot stand the sound of my guitar, but pretends to like acoustics because she knows the music brings out the best in me, and that even if she asks me to stop, I will play anyway. She lies on the floor on a Tuesday night, wishing she were in another town too small to be called a city, listens to melodies that remind her of where she is, ignores my creations and leaves my heart in her hands as she finally falls asleep.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 1:39 AM UTC
This letter, is to inform you, about a
bomb threat
that we received this, morning. Name of a Name
Unified Consolidated ISD,
a State-Recognized School of Somethingness,
Where Kids Come First under the theme of
All The Kids All The Curriculum All The Time
is committed, to the safety and education
of all our students and We Are Number One,
Go #Thundercatbears!, ‘Cause We are #All-Hashtagged
in Unity and Oneness. We also, want
to clearly communicate with split infinitives
And crazy commas all over the place
to parents about safety issues when they
get found out arise.
This morning, a phone call, was received,
by the receptionist at
The-Latest-Name-Held-in-Place-with-Velcro-Until-the-Next-Name-Change
Elementary School and Essential Spirit
Dreams New Dawn Progress Learning and
Technology Center of the Future
stating a
bomb
was present, on the campus.
After conferring with the Threat Assessment Team,
The Standard Response Protocol team,
the Chinkypin-Lizard Lick Police Department parked in the handicapped spaces at Tia Jolene’s Goremay Eats ‘n’ Bokays out next to the Interstate,
the cheerleader sponsors,
Facebook,
Twitter,
our attorneys,
and Superintendent Dr. Hamestus Goodoleboy “Spike” Ponsonby III,
the students were rapidly, and efficiently evacuated
to a safe area up in the football bleachers
where they would be more obvious targets
and the school was professionally and thoroughly
swept for anything suspicious and untoward.
During this time,
when no students were in danger,
another call was received stating that gunshots
were fired in the school. There were no gunshots,
fired in the school and
no children were in danger at any time.
Currently, we’re are is allowing students,
who were never in any danger,
to return to school as usual
where there was never any danger at any time.
We will have extra counselors and therapists available
if students or parents needs supports are
counsolining in spelling ‘n’ sentence structure.
The students were never in any danger at any time.
All threats to our school where
their was never any danger
and students who were never in any danger
will be taken seriously immediately
and thoroughly and investigated
thoroughly and fully except for that call
last week that we managed to keep covered up.
We wanted to inform you of the correct facts
because our correct facts are the only facts
so you can discuss them with your child/ren
Of any race, *** color, creed, religion,
or gender identification or not
and emphasize the seriousness of our facts,
which are the only facts. If you discover
Any facts untoward or out of place please contact us
At the district office at
*** *** xxxx ext ***
or the Chinkypin - Lizard Lick Police Department
immediately and thoroughly.
No children were in, danger at any time.
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 5:07 PM UTC
There's things that I don't say
In between kisses
And bowls of ramen noodles
On weeknights
There's a quiet sadness settled behind the couch and on the inside of my ribcage during our twilight marathons
On the weekends
Things left
To hopefully be forgotten under the bleachers at your soccer games
I go to whenever I can
It hangs with your hoodies in my closet
In the pit of my stomach
It's small but I can't stop it
And it takes me out for days at a time
I see you every day
But sometimes I am distant
In a different way
It's been done to me
And I'm sorry I'm doing it to you
I'm trying to phase the disappointment that has nothing to do with you
Out of my life like cycles of the moon...
The stars are ours
And that is true
I've never felt like I do when I'm with you
But I tried to tell you
I don't think
You completely understood
You have never felt
Such a sadness before.
.
.
.
.
*"What's wrong?"
"Is something wrong?"
"You would tell me if something was bothering you,
Right?"*
...
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 11:59 AM UTC
Brian was the perfect teammate. We were team parents and out numbered 3-2. But he was a strong enough player to hold a level playing field. When bases were loaded, he was the catcher and tagged our children before they could score a run. His commitment to our team made us strong and we did the best that we could to hold them on base during the teenage years. But their team was stacked. Three heavy hitters ready to stand up to the championship team… Wow! What an amazing game we all played together. And I had an outstanding coach.
But one day, one of their player’s was injured and could no longer play the game. It was a sad day, the day we realized that we were one team and that one of our star players would not be there to help bring our team back to victory! We suffered a few bases, but even though we did, we still came out winners….
Krystalyn married the man of her dreams. She brought 2 new players to the game, Joel and Zoey. 3 runs there. Sean has gotten sober and is in school to be an oral assistant. Score 3 more. I have moved on to be G-Ma and the proudest parent I can be… I scored 3. Brian fell in love, remarried and shared our family victories. 4 more runs.
What an awesome team. We are sad that Brian was injured and cannot play anymore. We will miss our coach. . But, we are happy he and Jay are together now in the bleachers and keeping score. We are still winning…. 13-0.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 9:13 PM UTC
GREED GREED GREED
GREED THAT MAKES
THE WORLD GO DOWN
GOING DOWN
ON A WASHINGTON PHALLUS
GOING DOWN
WITH THE PAPER PALACE
IN FLAMES
GOING DOWN LIKE PLANES
INTO BUILDINGS THAT STAND
FOR THE MAN
WHO HAS NO FACE
BUT HAS BOTH HANDS
IN YOUR POCKETS
GOING DOWN LIKE HIS PLANS
TO OWN THE HUMAN RACE
GOING DOWN
AT AN ACCELERATED PACE
GOING DOWN
LIKE A CHEERLEADER
BENEATH THE BLEACHERS
DOING HER PART
FOR THE TEAM MORALE
GOING DOWN
GOING DOWN
LIKE YOUR DREAMS
GOING DOWN
AND GETTING ******
GOING DOWN
GETTING ****** BY THE MAN
BUT YOU’RE NOT GAY
WAITING FOR THE DAY
YOU DIE AND ARE REBORN
TO RECLAIM
YOUR VIRGINITY
WAITING FOR THE DAY
YOU RECLAIM YOUR DIGNITY
WAITING FOR THE DAY
THE MAN WILL TAKE PITY
WAITING FOR THE DAY
YOU GET OUT OF THIS CITY
WAITING FOR THE DAY
IT ALL GOES DOWN
GOING DOWN
ON THE MAN
WITH THE TASTE OF SALINE
YOUR TEARS ON HIS ****
GOING DOWN
ON UNCLE SAM
WHILE GETTING ******
BY UNCLE RICH
TICK
THERE IS NO TOCK
IT’S MIDNIGHT
AND WE FORGOT
TO WIND THE CLOCK
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 1:05 AM UTC
i.
The sight of it brings back memories of
Your rival team, confronting you on the line of scrimmage,
The rain pouring down, stinging your face,
Your breath misting in the arctic air.
ii.
The smell of it brings you back to that Friday night
When you tripped up the bleachers and
Spilled popcorn all over yourself because
Her red hair and bright smile made you stop in your tracks.
iii.
The clang of the pins against each other
Follows you in the hallway wherever you go,
Reminding you of that triumphant feeling
That took over when your basketball team won districts.
iv.
The warm feeling that fills your heart when
You give it to her, the red-haired bright-smiled girl,
Matches the warm feeling she feels when she
Puts it on, drowning in your scent.
v.
You know that years later, after you’ve left high school
And everything about that place behind,
The sight of that jacket will bring back all the memories
Of football games, Friday nights, championships, and her.
Feb 19, 2019
Feb 19, 2019 at 5:06 PM UTC
(9-24-11 instrumental)
it takes 2 years to forget 6 years,
it takes 12 beers to forget your tears,
and it's those tears that flow so near,
this backyard that you hold so dear,
i held you here in better years,
i'd cheer you up, when i'd hear your fears,
the taste of beer and sky so clear
steer away now, it's in the rear,
view and that feels so cold,
i only see you through untagged photos,
youtubing high school talent shows,
or recitals, it's vital, that no one
actually knows, that i'm caught up
bought to get lost up,
another drink, another think,
i'm just a flawed ****
but i play it cool and act strong,
those other fools won't last long.
another sad song, i make it better,
got a new chick that's wetter cause
she aint afraid of that weather,
umbrellas discarded, in the bleachers,
teachers, gawking from the sidelines,
it's all fine, it's our time,
no need to dodge landmines...
call me minesweeper,
call me mindreader,
call me timekeeper,
call me justin bieber,
call me baby, baby baby,
call me jay-z, call me kanye,
call me all day, call me homewrecker,
call me and say i can do better,
call me about your sweater,
that's still at my place,
call me ghostface, call me action bronson,
call me hot one, call me ******* loser,
call me a waste of your time,
call me and say that this rhyme's, too simple,
call me jimmy kimmel, sarah silver-man.
i'm a better man, i'm business-man, i'm a gentle-man
i'm stan, writing this down in a crazy letter
no ink, self-mutilation and a feather,
better yet, i'm saying this outloud in the booth,
kick this rap game in the tooth with these red wing boots.
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 1:55 AM UTC
Mouse’s are a famous breed,
From lines of kings they come.
They have a mousey song, and a mousey creed;
They love mousey cheese, and mousey ***
Mouse’s love spirits, wine, beer, and ale;
They love to chew on cheesy things.
And when they’re drunk, they will regale,
Spouting stories of mousy kings.
In mousey castle, in mousey town,
Lived a mighty mousey king.
And his mousy eyes, looked up and down,
On every big, and little thing.
But his mighty mousy features,
Were struck by mousy mope.
For all his fellow creatures,
Were bereft of *** and hope.
“No *** No rum!” They cried,
To the king as he passed by.
They wept, and sobbed, and sighed;
“Oh my, oh my, oh my”.
In the kingdom of the mouse,
There can be no greater woe,
Than to find no *** in house;
It lays the mouse’s low.
“No *** can be got”!
Stated the advisor to the king.
“We’ve all got up, and drunk the lot;
'Tis a sad and sorry thing”.
All the mousy heads,
Hung low in grim defeat.
They played with mousy threads,
With mousy hands, and mousy feet.
But the king of mouse’s rose
Standing tall upon his mitts.
Wriggled in his mousy hose,
And strained his mousy wits.
“Who can build new ***
Asked the mighty mousey king.
But all the mouse’s were dumb,
On this mighty mousey thing.
Then from out the bleachers;
Stumbled little Georgey mouse.
A smirk bestruck his features,
He was happy; he was ******
With mousy hands he gript
A bottle tall and fine
And from its neck he sipped;
A liquor; so divine.
“I shound it through zzat wall”,
Announced little Georgey mouse
“Theresh enough for one and all;
Enough to build a housh”.
He sipped the liquor fair,
And shouted, “What a corker”!
He flashed the bottle in the air;
Black label Johnny Walker.
And all the mousey squeaks,
Wrung cheer from misery.
And the cheers went on for weeks;
“Whiskey! Whiskey! Whiskey!
Jun 8, 2010
Jun 8, 2010 at 8:19 PM UTC
You never said it with your words
hugs weren’t what We came to do
you said "Mountain Girls don’t cry"
I held it in to make it true
Don't worry Daddy, I don't need em
I know "I love you's" just words
So many stories in your eyes
never needed a gift or an alibi
We always knew it through and through
the way my heart looked into you
funny really, the truth
to us “I love you” are just words
I knew it at my ballgame
when you appeared in the bleachers
made you proud to all my teachers
don’t worry Daddy, I don't need em
I know “they’re just words”
Was confused when my lovers wouldn’t say it.
Wen't for a long journey don't the path of "maybe I didn’t deserve it"
there and back again
Now I know the truth, I'm worth it
it all happened in the start
it’s me who thinks “they’re just words”
so it didn't bounce back reflected
Now we can have it all
It’s ok to say “I love you”
can be freeing if you want it to
paint a picture with the rainbow
let love guide you
Don't worry Daddy I'll never need it
and they'll never see me cry.
But watch me Daddy as I ride
the craziest bull of them all
having both Love, it's spoken word,
hugs and all.
Dec 2, 2020
Dec 2, 2020 at 7:29 PM UTC
You rushed in like a quarterback carrying the ball
Like a rookie I fell for the fake play
Hook, line, and sinker, I foolishly bought it all
It seemed like a game that started out fair
Fans all abuzz claiming "This is our year!"
Now the bleachers stand empty, not a soul left to cheer
Nothing left but to turn off the stadium lights
On a field that was once so hopeful and bright
Off to the locker rooms both teams retreat
One to lick their wounds as the other celebrates the championship repeat
In glory you'll go on to play for more teams
While this career-ending injury is killing my dreams
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 2:50 PM UTC