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We were teammates
We suited up
We showed up

We weren't stars
But we rolled in the dirt
With the best of them

Our blood ran red
Like the rest of them

Our sweat tasted salty
As the most athletic of them

Wounds and bruises
Ached like the most
Stalwart of them

We were Bulldogs!
We anted up our
Gifts and talents to
Forge a winning season

A flair for humor
Wry observation,
Encouragement, fortitude
And intelligence were as
Valuable as speed,
Agility and strength

We all pined for the
Affection of cheerleaders,
Bandmembers and the
Adoration of fans

We equally joined
In the chorus of
locker room banter
And honored the
Confidence of camaraderie
Such intimacy bares

We endured thankless
Adversity, while wending
through anonymous toil

As brothers
We grudgingly drank
From the vile cup of defeat

And passed the chalice
Of victory among us
To share the savory
Taste of triumph
As champions

The Duke of Wellington
Said “the battle of Waterloo
Was won on the fields of Eton”

I trust my teammates and
Not forgotten friends
Tasted sweet victories of
Happiness and success
As they coursed through
Their prodigious fields of life

And at games end
I hope their heart swelled
With pride to know they were
A beloved and Valiant Bulldog

David Irving Korsh #75
BCSL Champion 1973
Rutherford Bulldogs

Well done Valiant Bulldog

God bless and Godspeed

Music Selection:
Bruce Springsteen
Thunder Road

5/5/18
Puyallup
jbm
the passing of a former teammate
Alaynah Sep 2018
Being black
Being LGBTQ
Being muslim
Just being me
Or you just being you

We’re all supposed to be on the same team
At least in my head
But some people are close minded
And want to see some of our teammates dead

Here’s something Jermine Hodge, a young black man said
“I’m just like you
a human
red blood
Emotions
a moving figure
Why should you treat me
Like I’m about to pull the trigger?”

Over the centuries blacks have been discriminated
Because of the color of their skin
Causing a whole population of HUMANS to become sadder
But at the end of the day we all bleed the same color
So why should what’s on the outside even matter?

Being black, that automatically means you deal drugs
And all the homies you hangout with, they’re just a bunch of  thugs
Who play with guns and are thieves
Who gets chicks knocked up with their baby and then just leaves

Black people are the ones who walk around with sagging pants
The ones who get bullied by the police over “suspected suspicion” and not remaining a “proper stance”

If they walk around in the wrong neighborhood it gives that scared white woman a good reason to dial
But really it’s just a good opportunity to flash the blue lights and racially profile.


People say brown kids were born to end war between the two races
But people who are racist at heart, won’t stop their cruel ways
just because they see more brown faces

I don’t experience racism?
That’s what they think
But I’ve gotten called the N word ‘cause
My skin isn’t like milk, it’s kinda like a mixed drink

And being gay? Nope “that’s a sin”
God forbid us to love who WE wanted
but little did he know love always wins

If you’re a man in love with a man,
You’re obsessed with fashion and have a high pitched voice
You see? We didn’t ask you we just insisted without giving any other choice.

And you’re a lesbian if you have tattoos, piercings and short hair
And act like you have nothing to lose
If you are in love with the same gender you don’t love god!
Imagine what it’s like to be in his shoes!

You can’t judge someone because of who they identify as or who they love
If it’s not affecting your life, it’s not something you should be concerned of

Now, Muslims.
I guess they’re all terrorists huh?
But I guess we judge an entire nation of people
Based off of a few unfortunate attacks and call out the whole religion. DUH

If you’re wearing a Burqa or Hijab you get judged and looked at because you’re
an assumed terrorist
Yes 9/11 was a tragic day but we can’t blame all Muslims because of it

People will criticize no matter what
But I can tell you what one of society’s errors is
The muslim that sleeps in my house every single night
IS NOT A ******* TERRORIST

White people get looked at as the racists ones
But I can tell you that this stereotype isn’t true
Because my white mom has many brown daughters and sons
And my white grandmother on my dads side has 21 children 18  of them being adopted black kids, she took them all in because they were so beautiful and held her heart captive.

Negrophobia, Xenophobia, Homophobia, and Racism
These are all made up things for glamorizing human criticism.

The point of this poem was to debunk what stereotypes do
Also to remember never let lies and other people’s beliefs stop you from being unapologetically you
stirred deeply with joy
enthralled with the spirit
we return to Elysian fields
to live autumnal reveries

we prance once more
onto blue sky diamonds
with hometown heroes
to pitch perfect games
knock long grand slams
to honor and embrace
the semblance of siblings,
parents, lovers and friends

life's teammates
our dearest playmates
passed and still here
sustaining our spirit
filling the void of
riven hearts
with nothing more than
a smiling presence,
compliant ear
a warm embrace

keeping a
season of sunshine
alive for one more
golden day

in a resplendent moment
Measy’s youngest son
stood before me
as if it were him
five decades ago

his impish smile,
mischievous eye
and olive skin
wrinkled when
he grinned

your Old Man
was a hell
of a ball player
a great hitter
he always swung down
at the pitch, hitting
nasty line drives

I remember that
summer afternoon
when we first met on
the Washington School
Merry-Go-Round...
Measy just up
from Carolina
he spoke with
a slow Tar Heel drawl
we didn't know what
to make of him
so we made him
our friend

Sifford's Esso, B&D;
and Bulldog teammates
I marveled at his athleticism
but the thing I remember
most was the soft joviality of...

“ ah hoot,
ah hoot.
ah hoot”

his laugh would send
a soft almost *******
shudder through his body

Measy lives in me,
forever in my heart
I embraced young Roy
touched his cheek
a transcendent moment
that spans a half century

At first base
Gail “Peppermint Patty” Q
was scooping up grounders
and not letting anyone past her
without giving them a smile or a hug….
asking each player if their shirt fit right…

the way Gail played
she could start for
the Lady Gaels today...

on the mound
Moons was wearing
a Schmeds shirt
lobbing lollipops to the hitters…..
making sure everyone got on base…

at short Screwball
covering half the ground
he once did..
(never a ss but a classic junk baller,
never threw a pitch that you could hit)
but on this day his heart was filled
overflowing with the karma
of good works and his love for
Rutherford and its favorite
sons and daughters
who have gone on before….

other stars abounded on the field and off…
Noons cracked everyone up
with an endless stand-up routine
Skip walloped a few dingers
BL looked sharp in his Foster Grants
and Andy was looking good
destined for the next cover of GQ….

Coach Way gave a resounding pep talk…
the need to grow up and show up
with an attitude of gratitude will
always make one a winner
regardless of the score

in the stands I heard a hundred stories
about the prowess and foibles of departed friends…

Bay Bay’s HR smash that put Flash Cleaners
into the World Series

A cool Moose bringing the ball across
half court, driving and dumping one off to Head
for the go ahead points against Queen of Peace

Minnow ruling a territory that included Morse Ave,
Wood Street up to Chopper’s House and
half of the Washington School playground

Fic being the smallest Bulldog with the largest heart
ran over linebackers and tackled fullbacks twice his size

Weehawken Joe draining a jumper
from the top of the key to keep it close
at the Union Hill pit…

as the list of the departed was read by Gail, Pat, John and Jimmy
the depth of our loss was only exceeded by the magnitude of love
a caring community extends to one another….
Rutherford is indeed a very special place….

so many caring friends
so many good thoughts
the blessing of friendship
the grace of presence

as I turned to leave
I thought I saw
Nick and Joe
hanging with
Sweet Lou
the hog was
humming
his red bandanna
was flapping
in a rising breeze

Aaron Copland:
Our Town

Righteous Brothers
Unchained Melody

Whitney Houston:
I Will Always Love You

Oakland
Dia De Muertos
2015


Thank you Pat Francke, Jimmy Noonan, Gail Wilhelm Quinn and John Mooney for putting this beautiful event together….

My apologies for not mentioning all the beloved souls so honored at this game…..Know that all are deeply loved and equally missed…..

If anyone has a memory they would like included please add in comments section and it will be incorporated in future versions…..

Also if anyone has a list of the names would like to add that to this….

God Bless
an annual autumn softball game played in my hometown Rutherford NJ...
we gather to honor and remember passed loved ones......
In the heart of the Courtroom sat God with his Only Begotten Son The Christ to his right-hand side to the left-hand side was Lucifer fully armored with a Golden Celestial Horn which will be blown once the war speech commences. Directly in front of them sat 25 Golden Robed Kings dressed in a white tunic with Golden Crowns flowing above their heads. In the massive throne room, there were nearly 750,000 thousand Angels gathered to hear this important speech. Within the crowd, there was some excitement and yet commotion going into play. The Golden Armada Of ArchAngels was presently composed of only 8 Lv-1000 ArchAngels they are under God's direct command and they are the most powerful toughest meanest baddest Angels God has put aside for the most dangerous and toughest assignments ever to be imagined. What God didn't expect was about to happen he was about to get betrayed by one of his main Angels and he himself be tested with the greatest trial he would ever face. Suddenly, Lucifer blew the horn the speech was about to commence...

Meanwhile in Infernus...
Inrah is harnessing Infernus power and converting it into a massive ball of power by opening his mouth wide the energy ball that has a rainbow color to it gets bigger and bigger and has created a transparent shield covering him leaving the angels unable to attack him directly...so every attack they throw at him has failed whether it be a long ranged attack or a close-range attack. Sebastian added "If I were to attack the beast somehow in close range I could potentially aim my Holy Spirit Purple Flame Arrow Of Fate is one of the most powerful attacks I have in my repertoire of moves. Valerye tells Krillin to use stealth and cloak herself from enemy view and attack him from behind the skull of the dragon...the dragon had peaked power in its attack and aimed directly at the 4 ArchAngels floating in mid-air about 400 ft away. In a blink of an eye, Krillin shot at the Dragon with Heavenly Gun Celestial Ray Bullets to draw attention to the dragon. Leona had used her doppelganger to act and be portrayed as Krillin. That made Inrah believe all 4 was there. The bullets broke the shield behind Inrahs skull and 3 bullets penetrated his head exploiting deep within and causing huge rupture like holes on his head. Inrah lost power and was interrupted so the energy ball lost some power itself. Squad #6 realized this was their chance to take Inrah down ...so Valerye being the muscular wise the strongest she leaped then teleported to Inrahs head and descended with a colossal attack disestablishing his power ball and exploding creating a distortion of ethereal space and the blast was so powerful that the Arch Angels suffered extensive damage to their armor. This time Inrah whole head had exploded and collapsed on itself Slowly but surely the tremendous beast with ferocious power had been silenced they all thought Inrah was dead. So each of them examines their selves Valerye had a crack on her shoulder side of her armor. Krillin had her armor almost intact except the broken shattered part of the crystal armature which some shards cut her left arm below the armpit. Krillin was bleeding but recovered phenomenally. Sebastian had Burn marks all over his lightweight armor. Leona had not suffered much due to the fact that she was observing the blast farther away. She had once again used her doppelganger to trick Inrah that she was Sebastian and had moved close to the energy ball when it was still in decent condition. Those golden seconds allowed her to teleport to a nearby location to observe the blast.
It had been 7 minutes and Inrahs head had not recovered...Exhausted from the long battle the Angels began to slowly fly away from the scene. However, Inrah was not dead yet and he gathered his last bit of strength to go back to his Arch Fiend form. The Arch-Fiend flashed and grabbed Valerye then Inrah began glowing dark energy and wouldn't let go of Valerye. So then all the other 3 members threatened Inrah to let go of Valerye then Inrah shouted to the Angels that if they were to attack him or interfere on the absorption of holy power he was going to perform that he would explode leaving Valerye dead or heavily injured. She then telepathically told all the goodbyes and all. Then Valerye heard the Lord's voice to tell her teammates to attack Inrah. Sebastian telepathically asked her if she wanted him to use Celestial Arrow so then they all detected that Inrah couldn't telepathically communicate with them anymore due to his lack of power. So they communicated this among each other and they took advantage of this opportunity to communicate with each other about Jesus message to them saying it was OK for them to attack Inrah due to the fact he had allowed the Holy Spirit to descend to Infernus temporarily to shield Valerye. Taking advantage of Inrah's inability to decipher their angelic messages thru telepathy they readied their positions. In fear, Inrah shouted to him and warned him that he would explode. Sebastian just looked at him and smirked and said... "Don't you see Demon is over..." at that very moment he drew his heavenly bow and slowly drew a celestial arrow. So then Inrah responded nervously... "I may be at my last stand but Master will understand..." right when he finished those words he exploded annihilating him instantly but Valerye was left unharmed due to the Holy Spirit Godly Shield an ability able to withstand any blast with a power level below 1000. So there all four Arch Angels stood on the ground of Infernus and made a surprising discovery. Their power level had grown. Furthermore, a new ability was unlocked by each member of the group. Sebastian learned Shadow Arrow. Leona Infernal Shield. Krylinn learned Earthly Armor. Last but not least Valerye Shadow Clone the ability to use two doppelgangers. The victory came at last and they all four after being left roaming Infernus for 7 long days they arose to heaven victorious and feeling joyful to see the Lord's gentle face and to feel God's embrace and power ever so mightily.

Back in the Courtroom...
The earnest tone of voice and a most elegant poise was worn by Lucifer as he gave his speech. Spoken in Umen a diabolical dialect mixed in the crowd was Vhar disguised as a messenger Angel. He contacted Nebol the 6th DemonLord of Infernus who has 650,000 Necromancers and 1.5 million undead soldiers at his disposal. Nebol made a rift allowing the Undead and Necromancers inside Infernus to relocate to random places around the perimeter of the Throne Room. Vhar and Nebol stormed into the Throne Room just to find themselves surrounded God had given orders to dispose of the imminent threat if any that opposed him or his kingdom. However the demons knowing God's presence would be overwhelming Nebol opened a portal right in front of him which transferred him to Infernus however him and Vhar sustained damage which lowered Nebol vitality due to Occult technique Shade of Darkness which allowed them to be shielded from God's Celestial Light and Adonai Vortex the first ability allows Yahweh the to impair demons use of abilities and conjuring power. The second ability is a is a white dim and slowly becomes a transparent hole that disintegrates demons any rank if touched by it. So with 1/4 of Nebols troops disintegrated when he almost lost his life and almost lost one of his best Generals Vhar he was outraged at the fact he had lost a significant amount of his demonic fleet. Now with 450,000 Necromancers and only having a million undead soldiers left. Nebol killed and consumed the heart of 5 Lv500 General Undead Soldiers and 1 out of only 6 in all the Necromancer Platoon an Lv-800 High Diabolic Priest Necromancer regaining all his power and armor back and with a stronger more powerful stance now regaining his posture as a Demon Lord. *There are 9 DemonLords in Infernus. Each and every single Demon Lord has Immortality and a power level of 1000. However some Demon Lord's are weaker and some stronger even though their power level cannot be higher. It ultimately matters of determination and skill. Aikalar First of the Demon Lord's rules the first circle of Infernus. He is a Huge White Wolf with Black flames with a small blue hue in his eyes and tail dominating the entrance of Infernus the smallest circle of Infernus. The Second Demon Lord portrayed as a Crow in a rotten tree high in the heights of Infernus. The second biggest circle in Infernus. Croxuss the third Demon Lord of Hell portraying himself as a huge turtle looking monster with Bloodshot eyes and ugly putrefying stench emitting from his body. The 4th Demon Lord known as Flayiron a once beautiful Arch-Angel LvIII Bow-Master now that he has joined the Infernus Fleet after his rebellion in Acapella He has a light blueish/purplish armor with a gigantic bow that can be transformed to a sword or a shield with a telekinetic command given by Flayiron. The fifth Demon Lord of hell is known as Asmodeus a half-giant half grey skinned demon who killed an Arch-Angel known Killas. Nebol the 6th Demon Lord of hell who was inbound to attack the great palace of heaven retreated momentarily to collect his thoughts. Lilith the 7th Demon Lord is the Angel of Lust a pure goddess of seduction with tremendous power. Nova the eight demon lord the most powerful goddess of all demon lords extremely beautiful and extremely sensual she does as she pleases with any of the Arch-Angels God has sent her way so far...she doesn't know she is about to meet her doom ...
Squad # 6. Arch-Angel Valerye with Arch-Angel Leona Arch-Angel Kryllin and Last but not least Arch-Angel Sebastian. They came to the 8th Circle Of *Infernus
where Demon Lord Nebol from the 6th Circle Of Infernus.
Work in progress...
Aaron McDaniel Nov 2012
Teammates supplement for family
Black and white pentagons are the walls around me
Studded shoes fit snug as skin
Practices beg for offerings
We give them Blood
Wanting more, we give sweat
Arguments with my family bring tears
We fight for every moment
Our pulse pumping with the seconds on the scoreboard
The score is never important
All that matters is our sisterhood
We are one
I challenged myself to write a poem for anyone and everyone of my friends that retweeted a tweet on my twitter. This is one of them.
Thinking about the meaning behind things and how people hear them differently, like how ppl hear them differently, like how people heere them differently, like how people hear dem differently, like how people hear them diffrinly.

and see them a little more unclearly, like yesterdays crystal-future-seeing-glass orbs

and thinking about teammates and how they work together, but think alone, and there's nothing there in the air or to wear and tear at together anyway

and thinking about teammates and their roles and their lines and their act and their heights and how all of these futures are lonely

thinking about strengths all tacked up on a bulletin board of connect-the-dots exercises

thinking about connect-the-dots stories and who is listening
I' m special he says
Believed in it his teammates
Champions they were
A tribute to Steve Waugh who believed himself to be special, and changed how Test Cricket is played. He is the greatest captain the game ever saw
That gorgeous gridiron beauty
Strives to be the best
Always training and preparing
She is a cut above the rest
It is no wonder
That her teammates follow her lead
She is a person that inspires
She knows how to succeed
andi doyle Feb 2018
Nothing ever comes close to my love for coffee. Not even my love for shoes, music, and photography combined.

I love my coffee during those hectic stretches of time when games and school exams and deadlines are held in the same weeks.

I love my coffee during the all-nighters and sleepless nights to keep up with everything going on.

I love my coffee during those sleepy and low energy moments after the early morning trainings.

I love my coffee during the days I am running late in my first period classes because I may have overslept.

I love my coffee during the hangover mornings after those wild drinking parties.

I love my coffee during the random and spontaneous hangouts at cafés.

I love my coffee during the long roadtrips with family or teammates.

I love my coffee early in the morning and late at night. I love my coffee at any time of the day.

I love my coffee for its sweet and intoxicating aroma. Just a sniff and it already feels like I am at home.

I love my coffee served hot that it reaches deep into the soul. I love my coffee served cool that it refreshes and chills the soul.

I love my coffee for the energy it brings me. I love my coffee for making my heart beat faster.

All of that swiftly changed when I met her. In just a short moment of time of exchanging the most basic informations between us.

I do not love her but she gets me through those hectic stretches of time.

I do not love her but she helps me keep up with everything and keeps me up at night.

I do not love her but she shares her energy with me after the early morning trainings.

I do not love her but she patiently waits for me for my first period classes whenever I oversleep.

I do not love her but she takes care of me during and after those wild drinking parties.

I do not love her but she keeps up with all my spontaneity.

I do not love her but she loves long drives and adventures herself.

I do not love her but she is always there for me no matter what, when, and where.

I do not love her but she really smells so nice every time. I do not love her but she feels like home.

I do not love her but she knows me so well including my deepest, darkest secrets. I do not love her but I always find myself looking forward to chilling out with her.

I do not love her but she really inspires me. I do not love her but she makes my heart beat faster.

Nothing ever came close to my love for coffee. Until I met her.
one of the few "happy"/"in love" pieces i wrote.
2017.10.05. inspired by ferdinand and isabel.
Kelly Bitangcol Nov 2016
I was taking a bath at 3 in the afternoon. Just finished brushed my teeth, now staring at the water below me, about to rinse off my shampoo while thinking of you. And then a certain thought came to my mind, this moment already happened. I don’t know how many times, probably twice or thrice but I remember looking at the pouring water and thinking of your love that has kept cleansing me. Not only the setting is same or the thought is similar but also the feeling that I have was the feeling I exactly felt when this thing happened. I remember dreaming that I was already running late for school and so I got ready so quickly as if I only have 5 minutes of my life left and when I already reached our classroom, all my classmates were staring at me like I murdered someone and the feeling was horrible. As I was dying from embarrassment, I suddenly woke up. Everything changed but it felt like nothing happened, then all of a sudden I was in a zoo, all dressed up with a camera, and a snake was about to **** me, and as I was dying from fear I woke up sweating. I checked my phone and it said it was midnight. I couldn’t remember what I was thinking back then but in that moment, the only words that came out of my mouth were “It was a dream within a dream.” When I was answering my math exam, I couldn’t think of anything to answer, I couldn’t even think of what to do in trigonometry, so I did the famous eenie meenie because I have already accepted that I was beyond bad when it comes to numbers, but I remember wishing that the Kelly Bitangcol in the parallel universe is a mathematician.


Déjà vu, dreams, parallel universe, what really are those? How does the uncanny sensation that you’ve experienced something before, that an event is repeating itself possible? Why do we dream and what even are dreams? Are we alone in this world? Is there another world? Or are there other worlds? Thousands of questions and all you get for an answer are 3 words, the great unknown. And that is what keeps everyone wondering right? Things we don’t know.  We keep on searching for answers even if takes decades to get them and until now the mysteries aren’t solved. So what we do is create our own ideas, our own theories. I think that our dreams are events that are happening to our other selves in another universe, and maybe your other selves are also dreaming of what is happening to you here. I think déjà vu is an event that already happened to us in another world so when we experience that moment for the first time, we feel that it already happened before. I always think of other versions of me, maybe one Kelly likes sports, maybe one Kelly is quiet and mysterious, maybe one Kelly loves math or maybe one Kelly is the very opposite of me.


But in the alternate dimensions, I wonder, would we meet? Would you ever come across to the sporty version of me? Would you never give up to unravel my mysteries? Would you like the mathematician Kelly? Would you fall in love with my opposite? I also made theories about your other selves, perhaps you’re a rockstar in one, perhaps the other version of you likes to paint, or perhaps one version of you abhors me. We could be staring at the stars in another universe, unable to tell our feelings for each other. We could be teammates in a math club. I could be sitting on a park bench while reading a book, and you are jogging, and as you decided to take a rest and sit on a bench I already left for class. We could be two people that would come across on the street, unable to look at each other, because we’re holding someone else’s hand. We could be anything in other worlds, we could be enemies, we could be just friends, or we could be strangers. And so I realised, that this version of me is beyond glad to meet that version of you in this one world out of no one knows how many. I do not like sports, I am not quiet and mysterious, I am horrible when it comes to math. You are not a rockstar, you cannot paint, but the thing is, I met you and you met me. We met one another and have known each other, we saw our imperfections and flaws and the things we couldn’t do that we wished we could. Maybe in another universe we could do all those things but we don’t have one thing there that we have here, each other. But hear me when I say this, if ever all of these are true, if I have lots of versions and you have many, whether there are things you can do or can’t, whether you’re worse or you’re better, one thing is certain. I will no longer spend decades to find an answer, I wouldn’t need to wonder anymore because it is not unknown. Baby, if there are millions of different you and millions of worlds, I know a thing for sure.  I would still choose this, I would still choose you.

*k.b
Phil Lindsey Sep 2015
It’s the top of the sixth, and
I don’t know the score;
If I am losing the game
I will have to score more.  If
I am winning that’s good,
But the game might be tied, and
If it ended right now,
Would you know that I tried?

How many innings
Do we get to play?
That’s a question that no one
Can answer today.
The game might go nine, or
It might end after seven. Do
I have enough runs to get me
Into Heaven?

How did I play?
Good field – no hit?
Playing hard till the last out was made -
Never quit?
Did I hit some home runs?
Was I good in the clutch?
Help my teammates score runs
With sacrifice bunts.

It’s the bottom of nine
Doctor said, “Game’s almost done.
You have just enough time
To score one more run.
Get your teammates together
You gave it your best,
You played as well as you could
Now it’s time for a rest.”
Not even sure how to keep score really...................................
Judy Ponceby Oct 2010
Sitting there yesterday at the football game,
Watching my son tackling the quarterback,
Feeling the warm sun and watching him earn respect,
From his teammates, made my heart proud.

Looking around, I saw the cheerleaders, 11 yrs old, too.
Yelling and flipping and shouting.
Then from nowhere, "My glitter is sweating off!"
Makes me laugh outloud.  

Little kids running everywhere,
Parents watching their kids, visiting,
It was a great scene!

Until I looked down in this sneezing little boys face,
And watched him scoop up some boogers
and have a snack.

Looking back I suppose it is only to be expected
as part of the scenery, and I can laugh now.
Just as watching the cheerleaders commenting,
And the poor kid who pulled a groin muscle,
Hobble off the field, is part of the scene.

All in all, a beautiful day, fun, family, and reality all at once.
Can you spare a word or 5?
tackle, earn, boogers, groin, sneezing
John F McCullagh Oct 2012
Jackie Robinson is exalted
as the first Black man to play,
but far fewer fans remember Glenn Burke,
the first ballplayer openly gay.

Like Jackie, he played for the Dodgers-
(different coast and a different time.)
Glenn came up to the Majors
In the summer of 79’

Burke was strong and tall and fast
And some teammates called him “ King Kong”
Though he roomed with Reggie Smith on the road
most nights Reggie Smith slept alone.

Burke befriended Young Tommy Lasorda
which was why he was traded away.
Old Lasorda couldn’t deal with the rumors,
Nor acknowledge his own son was gay.

Glenn Burke rode the pines while in Oakland
Billy Martin never gave him much chance
When Burke injured his leg in Spring Training
That ended his time at the dance.

He drifted, his playing days over,
He used, he stole and did time.
An accident left him a *******
Unprotected *** ended his line.

No shock was the A.I.D.s diagnosis-
His sister had long known he was gay.
When she took him in he was dying
when all others turned him away.

Sandy Alderson, with the Athletics,
took pity on Burke in despair.
The team paid for his A.I.D.S. medication
and covered the cost of his care.

Sad is the fate of the Athlete unsung,
dying apart from his team.
Glenn Burke showed that a gay man could play,
That a Gay Athlete also can dream.

Glenn Burke passed a long time ago
But his story deserves to be told.
He said when your suffering, dying of A.I.D.S.
Even days in the summer are cold.
( Glenn Burke was a fourth outfielder for the Dodgers and the Oakland Athletics in 1979-1981. He was also a star basketball player while in High School. Like Martina Navratilova, he acknowledged his homosexuality while still playing.
Glenn Burke's number will never be retired and there will never be a "Glenn Burke Day". I thought his story was an interesting piece of Americana that deserved to be told.)
emmaline Dec 2013
Time is something that is always changing, yet it always moves at a constant pace. My story includes such a small period of time. In one day, there are twenty-four hours, and somewhere in those few hours of January 15th, 2011, my life changed in the blink of an eye. Within seconds, someone I love stopped breathing. It changed everything. But, my story begins a few hours before that.
Wake up. I always have to tell myself to wake up. I wake up and it is a beautiful Saturday. I walk into the living room of my house, where the sun is shining bright through all the windows and I feel like it is going to be a good day. I usually wake up on the weekend home alone, but this time I walk around until I find my dad and my little brother, Phillip.
Dad: “Phillip and I are going to a Valdosta State basketball game later today, if you would like to come.”
I immediately think of my best friend James. James is a part of my family. He got along with my dad and brother better than I did. The basketball game with them would be a lot easier to endure if James went along. He is the older brother I never had.
I pick up my phone and call James, to invite him to join us. He doesn’t answer. James always answers. His phone goes straight to voicemail. I remember a time in the past that I called James with a stupid boy dilemma. James was in the middle of football camp, but he called a timeout. He picked up the phone for me then. I am always James’ first priority, so something seems wrong. I call Drew, James’ best friend, and his phone goes straight to voicemail as well. Something definitely seems wrong. I try to convince myself that I’m overthinking. I always overthink and I always worry too much, so this could be nothing. James is just busy. He’ll call me back later.
An hour or two pass by without response from either James or Drew. As I am cleaning up my room trying to keep my mind busy, I receive a text message from my friend Emily.
Emily: “What’s wrong with James?”
Emmaline (me): “What are you talking about?”
Emily: “I see on Facebook that many people are writing on James’ wall, saying that they are praying for him. Why are people praying for him? What happened?”
Little did she know that I was asking myself the same questions. What in the world is going on!?
Emmaline (me): “Umm, I’m not sure. He hasn’t been answering my calls. I’ll try to find out.”
James was a huge part of the church community. He was the first person that brought me to the church I’ve been attending for the past three years. He was a mentor to me; if it weren’t for James I would not have found the faith that has saved me. After those texts messages, I decided to call someone from the church to see if they knew what was going on with him. Mackenzie answered my call.
Mackenzie: “James and Drew went out duck hunting this morning at a place called Ocean Pond, and James is missing. Drew is fine, but he doesn’t know where James is.”

My heart immediately dropped to my chest. The gut feeling I had been experiencing all day that something was wrong was rapidly increasing, and I suddenly couldn’t keep still.  
My thought processes jumped to visualize duck hunting. I thought, when you go duck hunting, it is a little different from hunting ground animals like deer. When you hunt ducks, you spend the entire time on a boat. You don’t go missing on a small boat. James wasn’t playing hide-and-seek. James being missing meant that he was lost somewhere in the water. The odds weren’t looking very good. Maybe I’m worrying too much, but I’m being rational. Right? I put my phone down and slowly slid out of my chair onto the floor. I lay on the floor for hours, crying. My brother came in from outside and just stared at me. My chest was on fire; I have never felt so much pain in my life. The amount of emotional pain transformed to a physical pain that I felt in the pit of my stomach. The sun that made me happy when I first woke up now began to burn my eyes. I felt like I was sinking, but in reality the only person sinking was my best friend, drowning in icy water.
When I could finally stop crying enough to talk, I call my mom. My mom was not home this weekend; she was at the beach with some of her good friends from college. She did not take the news as heavily as I did.
Mom: “He’s just sitting somewhere in the marsh where the water is really shallow. Someone will find him. He’ll be fine, I know he will.”
I begin to feel somewhat better. I tell myself that this does not have to be a death sentence. James could be fine. I decide to call Mackenzie from church again and invite her and her mom to my house to keep me company while we wait for news.
Hours and hours pass by, yet still no news comes. The church and community decides to hold a prayer session at a local park for all the people worried about James. Mackenzie, her mom and I drive out to the park. Hundreds of people were at the park. All of them were there for James. All of us stood in a circle, teary-eyed, and prayed. I have never seen my community come together like that. Rival schools and teammates, people old, young, and teenage. Teachers, preachers, friends, athletes, fathers, mothers, so many people were at the park for James.
We went around in the circle and each person told their story of how much James meant to them. James was a brother to many. He was a mentor, a friend, a shoulder to cry on, a pal to laugh with. James was the one person that convinced a girl to graduate from high school. James was the friendly face that ate lunch with a boy that was alone and contemplating suicide. I had no idea that James meant so much to people other than me.
All it took was seconds, maybe minutes for James to drown. The water was below freezing. The gear that he was wearing was built to weigh him down in order to be able to wade in shallow waters. In deeper waters, he would surely and quickly sink. He drowned quickly, and within seconds he stopped breathing. However, it took search and rescue a month to recover his body. Days of worry and prayer turned into weeks. I had to return to school and try to go on with my life, as if I didn’t feel like it was all falling apart.

Finally, one crisp February morning, a search dog found my James’ body.

I was in my Advanced Placement Environmental Science class, and my phone rang from a number of different people. I went to the bathroom to return a call and found out that someone found my best friend’s dead body. I knew it wasn’t smart to hold on to any kind of hope that he was alive, but knowing he was actually dead made the situation suddenly very real. I tried to return to class, but I ended up sitting right beside the door, crying harder than ever. I had to go out to Ocean Pond, where I spent most of my time for the past month watching divers search for him. I had to go out there and see it.
By the time I arrived at the site, there was nothing left to see. James’ body had been recovered and I would never see him again. All that was left was a teary funeral, and abrupt good-byes that I wasn’t ready to give. To this day I don’t know how to say good-bye to James. I visit his grave, and I don’t know how to leave the picture of his face.
Losing someone you so deeply love so quickly is probably one of the most excruciating human experiences. I am so thankful that James left behind such a beautiful story, and such a powerful legacy. The first day I met James, he told me, “Hey girl. You know, I love you. I really do. I would take a bullet for you.” When someone says those kinds of things to you without even knowing you for twenty-four hours, it feels strange. But, James knew time meant everything. He knew that all it takes is minutes, seconds, to change someone’s life forever.
The thing that is so astonishing about James’ story, is that he understood how quickly everything can change. When James was alive, a fellow student of his died in a motorcycle crash. James was devastated that he had not reached out to this boy before it was too late. That night, in a note on Facebook entitled “The Clock is Ticking,” James wrote a short paragraph that showed the depth of his understanding of life. He wrote, “Take time to love someone. Today, Tomorrow, For the rest of your life. Because when that unexpected day comes that they pass on, you'll be left wondering what you could've done better. How you could have made them feel more welcome, and show that you do care for them. Don't wait until it's too late like I did. Show the love that Jesus has for you to everyone you see. Let your heart break for what breaks His. Christ is enough. Let Him show you life. You never know who He may touch through you. It is so sad that it takes a tragedy like this to comprehend how our days are numbered. Only He knows. Keep your faith in Him. He will bless you beyond belief. Our job is right now. This very second. So often, God gives me a little nudge towards someone.. and I put it off until the next day.. and then the next and then the next. Stop stalling. God put us on this earth for HIS glory. Not ours.. and so many times, the things I do always point back to me and my stupid self righteousness. So do something with me. Everyone. If this just touches one person, I will have done my job. Don't stall. Judgement is a heart beat away.”
L A Lamb Sep 2014
In her own way, she always wanted attention. Perhaps it’s because she was the middle child of her family. Her mother would take her out shopping when she was younger and every time her mother became distracted she would run away and hide in the clothing racks. She remembered watching her mother begin to panic and frantically search for her little girl, becoming more alarmed with each passing minute and eventually calling for help from the store employees. She would hide until her mother was on the brink of tears and only then would she emerge, smiling and innocent looking, having the pride of winning another hide and seek game her mother never knew about.



Vanity liked winning. Her definition of winning, however, was much different from that of many of her teammates. Although there were other girls who played sports, many weren’t as aggressive or skilled. The boys would often acknowledge Vanity’s gender and openly criticize her skill for it. She hated sexism—introduced to it at a young age, it took all of her energy to maintain her polite demeanor and “be the better person.” She knew, by doing this, she was betraying herself and accepting her environment.



Vanity, even at five years old, felt accomplished if she kicked the opposing team’s best player hard enough in the shins to send them out of the game. She felt especially proud when they had to be carried off the field by their coach and were crying. Vanity was not an angry little girl though; this was just how she played. When it came to competition, she fought hard. She wanted to be the best. She often played football or tag with her old brother and his friends and she felt special as the only female.



Occasionally some boy from the neighborhood would, like her teammates, criticize her for being a girl and tease her for not being able to keep up. There was one specific occasion, when she was six years old, and a boy, Justin, decided he didn’t liked her playing with the boys. He would purposely shove her and knock her over to demonstrate her physical weakness, and in so he would laugh. Vanity felt hurt that the other boys wouldn’t help her. It was only then, she learned, that no matter how mean they were to a girl, boys would stick together instead of helping a girl out. Boys stuck together and girls stuck together.



Justin pushed Vanity over one last time, hard, and once she fell to the ground and watched him laugh as he started at her brushing the dirt off herself she tried hard not to cry. Instead she rose and ran over and tackled him. Once he was on the ground she climbed on top of him and started punching his face over and over again, and only once his nose start to bleed did she alternate between scratching and punching. All the boys watched her fight and she didn’t stop hitting him until the front door opened and Justin’s mother called out too see what the raucous was.



Vanity ran home and hid under her bed until her mother found her about an hour after. While hiding under her bed, Vanity felt both scared and excited for what she’d just done. At six years old, she knew what she’d done was wrong but she felt such a rush. She justified her actions with the misogyny, however, and she felt proud that she and only she had so well defended herself. The boy deserved it. Justin was in no way better than she, and the fact that he was nine and had a ***** did not justify the way he treated her. Vanity liked to fight. She liked to keep up with the boys and beat them at their games. She couldn’t always run faster, but she could hit and tackle and was not afraid of body contact.
Damaged Dec 2013
I am literally about to scream.
At my own ******* teammates.
Stop the comments about her.
Stop putting her on the side of "I know why he's being why he's being"
No you don't.
You have no idea even half the situation.
So just shut the **** up.
She's not a bad person, she's just had a rough life.
She's just a scared girl going through a hard time.
But honestly aren't we all?
Stop ******* judging her.
Worry about yourselves.
Please.
John F McCullagh Dec 2011
The Race


An injury in sophomore year
caused me to miss the springtime meets.
I was sitting in a cast
while my teammates won their heats.


I am no brain, I can’t sit still
No chance I’ll ace the S.A.T.
But medal wins in track and field
could mean  a scholarship for me.


Near Lewis is a cinder track-
an oval of a quarter mile.
So I come here to do my laps
And dream of victory for a while.

A short fat man goes jogging by
In sweat drenched shirt and navy shorts
Gasping, like a fish in air,
fleeing from his mortal thoughts.


I doff my sweats and start to stretch
I take no chances with this knee.
Soon I’m feeling good and loose,
it pays to warm up properly.

A tall thin runner, strangely pale,
About half of the track ahead
I‘ll pass him like he’s standing still
Then he’ll be chasing me instead.

I pass the jogger right away
The pale runner, though, moves speedily
I pick up my pace a notch
Just as quickly so does he..

I stretch my stride, he does the same
And gains upon me steadily
I thought that I was chasing him
It seems instead he’s chasing me.

I never raced this guy before
At any of the local meets
He appears to be as old as me
But his gear is “thrift shop” quality.


Sure enough, he’s gaining fast.
I dig down for a last reserve
I didn’t think I’d lost a step
Bad news, if it’s true, for me


I hear his foot falls close behind
And vainly try to stay ahead
I turn my head to see his face
It is the face of one long dead.

The ghostly winner makes a turn
and passes through the gate and chains
The cemetery lies beyond
That holds the urn with his cremains


“You saw him too” the fat man gasps-
“I thought that he had come for me”
I knew he only came to run
I recognized the ghost you see.

“Tommy Miller was his name
School Champion back in 63’
.He died crossing this finish line
an aneurysm  in his brain.”


Unfinished business binds him here
A restless spirit, more than most,
The race is ever to the swift
The quick are beaten by a ghost
A ghost story
Essen Feb 2016
Giant squid
Giant squid
Run away from giant squid

He got fid
Pushing mid
Teammates blew respective lids
likely only makes a lick of sense if you've ever played a MOBA
Do you remember begging our parents to let us be adults?
When our favorite thing to do was dress up and play make believe.
Drinking meant chocolate milk and artificial fruity drinks.
Getting wasted meant falling off your bike.
When the only pain we knew was stubbing a toe…
Or scraping our knees from the fall.
Getting high wasn’t a term where we blew smoke out of our mouths,
it was seeing who could jump or swing the highest.
When “taking one for the team” meant helping your teammates,
not making a girls night a little bit better.
When kissing was just kissing and you got cooties,
Not STDs and aids from going too far.
And the protection we wore,
was helmets on our heads to prevent concussions…
not a newborn.
When wearing makeup was fun,
and a way to express yourself…
Or wearing your favorite skirt made you feel cute,
not like a ****.
When we didn’t know what drugs were,
just knew that the creamy pink liquid made us feel better.
When boyfriends and girlfriends were described as,
“My friend thats a boy….”
“Or my girl……….. Friend.”
When sleepovers were strictly sleepovers,
not an excuse to get in bed with your best friend…
Who you recently discovered feelings for.
The only wars we knew were card games
And our worst enemies were our siblings.
Dad’s shoulders were our thrones and mum was our hero.
How about that time when we all wanted so badly to grow up?
did you think you could just take
the most vulnerable parts of me
and then leave without saying a word,
like i wouldn't rage a storm on you?
like it hasn't happened to me before?
did you think you would be so special
that i would let you ruin me?
because you got the one girl that your teammates couldn't stop talking about.
because you used her.
because she told you about the things
that made her bones ache?
and then you left,
without saying one word.
did it make you feel good?
and now you can't even pick up
the phone and answer when she asks
why.
because you are that weak.
honey, let's be real here:
you could never handle this storm
and we both knew that.
he was out in the rain
on the field
under the lights.
i was in the stands
watching with tears in
my eyes
and a smile
on my face
because i just knew
after he had caught the ball,
hit the ground,
ran back to the sidelines,
and highfived his teammates,
he smiled
and thought about
me.
Jett Wells May 2011
Two minutes. Waiting.
My heart is ready to burst.
The lanes are naked, clean,
ready to be torn up by cleats
and sweat.

Hundreds of eyes blinking and
staring.
Chatter swarmed into a calm
storm underneath this dome.

Waiting is the hardest part.
The anticipation, building.
Struggling to breathe as I
strategize.

Faster here.
Ease up here.
Go for the ****.
Take him.
A vision.

It’s almost time. Everything
is clenched. Find my control.
Don’t go out too fast, find your
stride. Tail the leader.
Wait for the moment.

Step up onto the lanes.
Red and white.
My teammates looking on.
The stakes digging into my
Stomach.

Step up to your blocks.
My heart beats faster.
I want to throw up.
This is it.

On your mark.
My ankles shiver.
Adrenaline at full throttle.
I can’t lose. I can’t lose. Go.
Jellyfish Dec 2015
I am Soraka Flocka Flame,
I go hard in the paint:
I'll make the bad guys go away
because I've got heals for days
that's right- look the other way
you can't handle this type of pain
I can tell that you're afraid.
Don't worry though because
I make everyone feel like this
all of your skill shots are amiss
and I bet I'm making you reminisce
about old times where you were fly
like the other game you played last night
but right now, I'm bringing you down
your teammates are calling you a clown
you're starting to believe you'll get reported
for  **f e e d i n g
It's fun to have fun to be fun with fun.
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
The Locker
by Michael R. Burch

All the dull hollow clamor has died
and what was contained,
removed,

reproved
adulation or sentiment,
left with the pungent darkness

as remembered as the sudden light.

Originally published by The Raintown Review

These are poems about sports like baseball, basketball, boxing, football and soccer. Keywords/Tags: Sports, locker, locker room, clamor, adulation, acclaim, applause, sentiment, darkness, light, retirement, athlete, team, trophy, award, acclamation



Ali’s Song
by Michael R. Burch

They say that gold don’t tarnish. It ain’t so.
They say it has a wild, unearthly glow.
A man can be more beautiful, more wild.
I flung their medal to the river, child.
I flung their medal to the river, child.

They hung their coin around my neck; they made
my name a bridle, “called a ***** a *****.”
They say their gold is pure. I say defiled.
I flung their slave’s name to the river, child.
I flung their slave’s name to the river, child.

Ain’t got no quarrel with no Viet Cong
that never called me ******, did me wrong.
A man can’t be lukewarm, ’cause God hates mild.
I flung their notice to the river, child.
I flung their notice to the river, child.

They said, “Now here’s your bullet and your gun,
and there’s your cell: we’re waiting, you choose one.”
At first I groaned aloud, but then I smiled.
I gave their “future” to the river, child.
I gave their “future” to the river, child.

My face reflected up, more bronze than gold,
a coin God stamped in His own image—Bold.
My blood boiled like that river—strange and wild.
I died to hate in that dark river, child.
Come, be reborn in this bright river, child.

Published by Black Medina, Bashgah (Iran, in a Farsi translation), Other Voices International, Thanal Online (India), Freshet, Formal Verse, Borderless Journal, Interracial Love, and in a YouTube video by Lillian Y. Wong

Note: Cassius Clay, who converted to Islam and changed his “slave name” to Muhammad Ali, said that he threw his Olympic boxing gold medal into the Ohio River. When drafted during the Vietnamese War, Ali refused to serve, reputedly saying, “I ain't got no quarrel with those Viet Cong; no Vietnamese ever called me a ******.” I was told through the grapevine that this poem appeared in Farsi in a publication called Bashgah.



Me?
Whee!
(I stole this poem
From Muhammad Ali.)
—Michael R. Burch



hey pete!
by michael r. burch

for Pete Rose

hey pete,
it's baseball season
and the sun ascends the sky,
encouraging a schoolboy’s dreams
of winter whizzing by;
go out, go out and catch it,
put it in a jar,
set it on a shelf
and then
you'll be a Superstar.

Pete Rose was my favorite baseball player as a boy; this poem is not a slam at him, but rather ironic commentary on the term “superstar.”



Baseball's immeasurable spittin’ mixed with occasional hittin’.—Michael R. Burch



Larry Seivers had golden hands
by Michael R. Burch

Larry Seivers had golden hands,
platinum hands,
diamond hands,
hands of jasper, sapphire, chalcedony, emerald, sardonyx, sardius, chrysolite, beryl, topaz, chrysoprase, jacinth and amethyst.

Other receivers were more elusive,
bigger,
faster,
more physical,
flashier ...

but Larry Seivers had hands.



Julius
by Michael R. Burch

Instinct
in an unplanned moment
as you rise
will teach your limbs the art of flight:
the waltz of light
through vaulted skies.

A falcon flies:
its keening cries
as sunlight fails
fall hollow to the earth below,
and you must know
how fierce the light of sunset feels.

You hear
those ringing cries, their echoes clear
though far away, and so you pause
—defying even gravity,
suspended over some vast sea—
then fall ... into applause.



Larry Legend
by Michael R. Burch

He's slow, can't jump,
looks pale and plump.
He talks too much;
he brags, and such.
He's not real nice,
has blood like ice
and will like steel
(and steal he will).
But when the game is on the line,
your team, or mine?



Big Mc Attack
by Michael R. Burch

Johnny Mc
Enroe
is back—
the fierce
attack
of words
and serves,
returns
and taunts.

He flaunts;
he flails,
reviles
and rails.
Sometimes
he wails.
His ego
swells.
He grunts
and groans
and moans
and gee . . .
I think
he wants
to referee!

Johnny Mc
(thank God)
is back—
wisecrack
ing, fiery,
taking flack
(not hesitant
to give it back).

We love
to watch
him glare
and wince,
and since we sense
his dreams
(intense),
we sit
on pins
until
he wins.



For Jack Nicklaus, at the 1987 Open
by Michael R. Burch

When you were young
every putt was makeable
and every dream remarkable;
the stars were unmistakable
you set your sights upon.

Then, in your youth,
time not yet a factor
and age not yet your rector,
you plotted every vector
and victory shone ahead, like truth.

But uncouth youth was fleeting ...
soon losses grew more numerous;
time's skies became more cumulus;
the nerves with age—more tremulous,
as the sun from the sky was setting, retreating.

How have you then, as sunset nears
and the world looks on with unsure eyes,
cast off the crutch of age to rise
and stand as though the butterflies
have no effect, no, nor the cheers?



I wrote this poem after Tom Watson chipped in at the 1982 US Open to defeat Jack Nicklaus. Nicklaus was getting older, but he was still competitive.

There Are Dreams
by Michael R. Burch

for Jack Nicklaus

There are dreams
that you have dreamed
that are etched into your eyes.

There are dreams
that you have dreamed
that resignation can’t disguise.

There are dreams
that you have dreamed . . .
O, I’ve dreamed them, esteemed them.

Like fire,
desire
flares most brightly as it dies.



Jimbo
by Michael R. Burch

for Jimmy Connors

Pounce like a panther,
all sinew and nerve;
attack, arched in anger,
your quarry—the serve.
Imagine a moment
of glory to come
as you lunge for the path
of its flight through the sun.

Are you a Templar
like warriors of old,
forsaking your loved ones,
crusading for gold?
Or could it be
need for fame drives you on?
Do you soak up the cheers
as you dash through the sun?

As you battle those younger,
those stronger, more fleet,
still none can be fiercer,
less yielding, complete.
Oh, what drives you onward,
what makes you compete?

I think not the riches, acclaim, even love . . .
but your heart is incentive enough.



The Great GOAT Debate
by Michael R. Burch

The great GOAT debate
can no longer wait:
we MUST know who’s best, and know NOW!

Is it Jordan, Kareem,
or Hakeem the Dream?
Is it Gretzky, the Rocket, or Howe?

Is it O.J. or Brady,
or are they too shady?
Tom Burleson or Monte Towe?

But now that I’m thinking
and done with my drinking,
before I make friends with a large purple cow ...

It’s the Babe, let’s get serious!
Babe Didrikson Zaharias!
Let the Ultimate GOAT take a bow.

Mildred Ella “Babe” Didrikson Zaharias was a basketball All-American, a baseball and softball star, a professional golfer who accumulated ten major championships, and a track and field legend who won two gold medals and a silver in three different disciplines at the 1932 Olympics while setting four world records in the process. She was also an expert diver, roller-skater, bowler and billiards player. Didrikson won the 1932 AAU track and field team championships while competing as an individual, by winning five of the eight events she entered and finishing second in another. She remains the only track and field athlete, male or female, to have won individual Olympic medals in a running event (hurdles), a throwing event (javelin), and a jumping event (high jump). Despite taking up golf in her mid-twenties and having to wait until age 31 to regain her amateur status, Didrikson won 17 straight women's amateur tournaments, an unequaled feat. Altogether, she won 82 golf tournaments. She made the cut at two men’s PGA golf tournaments, the only woman to do so, and she did it sixty years before any other woman even tried. In 1934 exhibition games, after being taught the curve ball by Dizzy Dean, she pitched one scoreless inning against the Dodgers and two scoreless innings against the Indians. Didrikson still holds the world record for the longest baseball throw by a woman. The world has never seen anyone like her.

“She is beyond all belief until you see her perform ...Then you finally understand that you are looking at the most flawless section of muscle harmony, of complete mental and physical coordination, the world of sport has ever seen.” – Grantland Rice, considered by many to be the greatest sportswriter of all time



Ring-a-Ling Bling
by Michael R. Burch

The ring
thing
is mostly bling.

Determining an individual athlete's greatness by counting championship rings (i.e., team success) makes no sense to me and seems disrespectful to all-time greats like Ernie Banks, Charles Barkley, Elgin Baylor, **** Butkus, Ty Cobb, Michelle Kwan, Karl Malone, Dan Marino, Marta (who may be the greatest female soccer player of all time), Barry Sanders, John Stockton, Fran Tarkenton and Ted Williams. Perhaps the best example is the player most cited for rings these days: Michael Jordan. In reality, Jordan didn't win a ring his first six years and was 0-6 against
the Larry Bird Celtics and lost two more playoff series to the Isiah Thomas Pistons. Were Bird and Thomas the better players, or did they simply have better teams? The answer seems obvious.
Jordan only began to win rings after he was joined by outstanding players like Scottie Pippen, Horace Grant, et al, and even then it took time for that team to jell. Jordan was a transcendentally great player before he won a ring. If he had failed to win rings because he never had good-enough teammates, would that make him a lesser player? Judging individuals by team success or failure makes no sense, unless Jordan was a lesser player for six years while his teams struggled and then he miraculously became the GOAT when more capable players showed up. Ditto for LeBron James. The first thing he does after changing teams is use his influence to get better players to join him. LeBron is not foolish enough to believe rings are won by individuals.



The Ring Thing (is entirely Bling)
by Michael R. Burch

The ring
thing
is entirely bling.

Michael Jordan was zero-for-six
against the Larry Bird Celtics;
moreover he was twice sent home
by Isiah’s Pistons;
his ring case only began to gleam
when he had Horace, Scottie and B.J. on his team.

Thus the ring
thing
is bling.



The Ballad of King Henry the Great
(aka Derrick Henry)
by Michael R. Burch

Long live the King!
Send him victorious,
happy and glorious,
long to reign over us:
Long live the King!

Long live the King!
Send him like Sherman tanks
Mowing down cornerbacks,
Stiff-arming tiny ants:
Long live the King!



No T.O.
by Michael R. Burch

Lines written after the aptly-named Eric Eager said, “A. J. Brown is Terrell Owens.”

I’m young, I’m big-hearted,
but I’m just getting started.

I’m running my own race
at my own **** pace.

T.O. belongs in fabled Canton town,
but I’m A. J. Brown.

The second stanza was actually written by A. J. Brown, a budding poet, and published in the form of a tweet.



Charlie Hustle
by Michael R. Burch

for Pete Rose

Crouch at the plate,
intensity itself.

Follow the flight
of the streak of white
with avid eyes
and a heartfelt urge
to let it fly.

Sweep the short arc,
feel the crack of a clean hit,
pound the earth
toward first.

Edge into the base path,
eyes relentlessly relentless.

Watch his every movement;
feel his every thought;
forget all save his feet;
see him stretch
toward the plate ...
and fly!

Fly along the basepath
churning up the dirt,
desire in your eyes.

Slide around the outstretched glove,
hear the throaty cry,
"He's safe!"
And lie in a puddle of sunlight
soaking up the cheers.

A Texas Leaguer dropping
to the left-field side of center
sends you on your way back home.

Take the turn past third
with fervor in your eyes
and a fever in your step,
the game just strides away ...
take them all and then
slide your patented head-first slide
across the guarded plate.

Pause in the dust of your desires,
loving the feel of the scalding sun
and the roar of the crowd.

Shake your head and tip your cap
toward the clouds.

Slap the dirt
from your grass-stained shirt
and head toward the clubhouse ...
just doing your job,
but loving it
because it is your life.

This was an early attempt at free verse, written in my teens.



The Sliding Rule
by Michael R. Burch

If you’re not quite kosher,
like Leo Durocher;
or if you have a Pinocchio nose,
like Peter Edward Rose;
or if your life turns tragic,
like Ervin Johnson’s magic;
or if your earthly heaven
is stopped, like Howe’s, at seven;
or if you’re a disciplinarian
like Knight, but also a contrarian;
or if like Joe you’re shoeless
because you’re also clueless;
or perhaps like Iron Mike Tyson
you work a little vice in;
or like Daly working the jackpot
you’re less unlucky than merely a crackpot;
or like Ruth you’re better at drinking
than at dieting and thinking;
or perhaps like Andre Agassi’s
your triumphs are really your tragedies . . .
though The Judge might call you a sinner,
society’ll proclaim you a WINNER!



Tremble
by Michael R. Burch

Her predatory eye,
the single feral iris,
scans.

Her raptor beak,
all jagged sharp-edged ******,
juts.

Her hard talon,
clenched in pinched expectation,
waits.

Her clipped wings,
preened against reality,
tremble.

Published by The Lyric, Verses Magazine, Romantics Quarterly, Journeys, The Raintown Review, Poetic Ponderings, Poem Kingdom, The Fabric of a Vision, NPAC—Net Poetry and Art Competition, Poet’s Haven, Listening To The Birth Of Crystals (Anthology), Poetry Renewal, Inspirational Stories, Poetry Life & Times, MahMag (Iranian/Farsi), The Eclectic Muse

Keywords/Tags: Tremble, predator, raptor, hawk, eagle, falcon, talon, beak, wing, preen, preened, preening



Y2k: The Score
by Michael R. Burch

You should have known
when you were giving us wedgies,
pulling down our pants
in front of the cheerleaders,
playing frisbee with our slide rules . . .

that the years are exceedingly cruel.

You should have seen,
dashing across the gridiron
(as the cheerleaders screamed
in a *****-show of ecstasy),
playing the hero, the bull-necked **** . . .

the hands on the face of the unimpressed clock.

Though you were popular,
the backseat Romeo, the star
who drove the flashiest car,
though you lived out our dream
and took the prettiest girls to the dances, the prom . . .

you never had a chance.  Something was wrong.

We missed the big dances and proms
as we hissed and we schemed,
as we wrote and re-wrote our revenge
while you partied like Stonehenge.
Now your business is in debt to the hilt.
It’s too late to cry: Foul! Unsportsmanlike! Tilt!

One statement of ours and yours are all lost!
Your receivables, aging and gathering dust,
will yellow like ***** one soon-coming day.
While you were scoring, you missed this play—

Jocks: Zero. Nerds: Y2k.



Ordinary Love
by Michael R. Burch

Indescribable—our love—and still we say
with eyes averted, turning out the light,
"I love you," in the ordinary way

and tug the coverlet where once we lay,
all suntanned limbs entangled, shivering, white ...
indescribably in love. Or so we say.

Your hair's blonde thicket now is tangle-gray;
you turn your back; you murmur to the night,
"I love you," in the ordinary way.

Beneath the sheets our hands and feet would stray
to warm ourselves. We do not touch despite
a love so indescribable. We say

we're older now, that "love" has had its day.
But that which Love once countenanced, delight,
still makes you indescribable. I say,
"I love you," in the ordinary way.

Winner of the 2001 Algernon Charles Swinburne poetry contest; published by The Lyric, Romantics Quarterly, Mandrake Poetry Review, Carnelian, Poem Kingdom, Net Poetry and Art Competition, Famous Poets and Poems, FreeXpression, PW Review, Poetic Voices, Poetry Renewal and Poetry Life & Times
Lauren Dorothy Jul 2013
I didn't mind the girl in the mirror.
The way her thighs touched
never bothered me.
She didn't have a small waiste
Nor an hour glass figure
Those things were never significant.
I've cared for my body
Grown in it
Accepted it.
The thing I don't like about my body
Is the pressure from mom
The assurance from sister
The remarks from teammates.
I like my body.
But I seem to be the only one.
The only one that is there for you in the end is yourself.
goatgirl Aug 2013
i'd seen you around school, i watched your wrestling practices after i was done with track,
one time i saw you almost get into a fight with one of your teammates
(but when we actually started talking, i didn't connect the two images together)
our conversations were of ****** nature and you told me you lived in my subdivision and i thought 'this is great'
and we met up in the heat of summer and we went to the pool and i was a little alarmed by how quickly
you became comfortable with grabbing me and holding me
and finally we sat down and i thought it was awkward to sit on a stranger's lap
especially when your hand wandered south and i couldn't keep my breath from becoming shallow
and i couldn't help throwing my head back and
i thought "this shouldn't be happening"
and i thought i'd fix it by hungrily kissing you
but then you picked me up and said bend over and i said No and you whispered in my ear, you said
"are you scared of no longer being a ****** tease"
and i said "n-no, that's not it at all"
and i was disoriented and i was scared
and i don't know why i loved it so much,
i don't know why i fell in love with you,
i don't know why the next week was spent mostly with you,
you were so good with your tongue but so bad with self control
and you taught me how to raise goosebumps with my breath
and you taught me that arousal makes men angry
and you taught me to never flaunt myself ever again,
i cried because you were going away to college,
you begged me to sneak out and comfort you when you were arguing with your parents,
i don't know why i fell in love with you,
but i fell out of it in the same way,
you left town for a week and the fog in my head cleared,
i ignored your calls and was so relieved that i never pointed my house out to you.
Julie Watson Nov 2011
This love-hate affair had been going on since seventh grade
When I first stepped foot onto that oval shaped piece of hell
After all that time, crying, wishing, regretting, and failing
I swore that if I ever manned up and told my father no,
        I wouldn’t miss a thing.
After years of putting myself out there
On that track and in the middle of that open field,
After trying so hard but just not physically being capable to do it,
Or maybe I wasn’t mentally able to allow myself to go faster…
        These words are what I clench back with my teeth.
                I miss the early morning workouts that sent me straight to bed later on
                I miss the relief of finding out we weren’t going to have a hard day, instead, yoga
                I miss being able to brag about how hard my workout was the day before
                I miss rolling out of bed, grabbing my bag and driving myself to school at 5:30,
                        Ready to fall back asleep on the bus ride to our meet
                I miss being the sloth of the team, sleeping any chance I got, in any spot
                I miss the butterfly feeling I got before the gun went off
                I miss how exhausted I would be halfway through my race
                I miss planning where and when I would purposely fall down and hurt myself
                        Even though it never really came to that
                I miss the cheering of the team collectively as each runner ran by
                I miss the shouts of numbers and praises telling me to go faster, faster!
                I miss the rush of adrenalin that would pump through as the finish line got closer
                I miss finishing, and thinking of how much harder I could have gone, but didn’t
                        Every race would end in feelings of failure, but they really weren’t
                I miss playing around with my friends when we were all finished with our competitions
                I miss yelling at my teammates to keep it up! And reassuring them that they could do it!
                I miss being not good at competing, and being put in the slower groups during practices
                I miss feeling embarrassed as the other teams watched us run, and me, falling behind
                        I miss how we would all go faster when there were boys around, no matter what
                I miss my coach’s pep talks that were insightful for real life too, not just for running
                I miss being able to vent on runs, through talking and the pounding of my feet
                I miss sharing with everyone I hated running and practice and meets and being there
                I miss telling everyone that my dad made me run and that’s why I was there
                        Even though I could have stopped myself if I actually, truly wanted to
It’s not that I miss the sport or the people right now
It’s that I miss the way it was when we all first started
When all of my friends were with me
But slowly, one by one, they started peeling away
Splitting off into their own directions, deciding to move on
I was the leftovers. I did not matter. No one cared.

And that’s when I started not to miss these things anymore.
Rudolph Musngi Jun 2014
The MVP took a day off.
There was no game today.
No practice, no training, no press conferences.
He lazed on his soft king-sized bed
trying to set his mind straight.
Exactly twenty four hours and eighteen minutes ago,
he was in the arena.
Sweating his *** off, running, jumping, scrambling for the ball.

It was the finals, game 7.
Fans filed up in their lines, cheering for the MVP.
Fourth quarter, with only three seconds to go.
The opposing team has possession
His team leading by one.
Ball was inbounded
Caught by his man.
A shot was fired
He jumped
He was too late.
Bucket.
Buzzer.
Fans cried out of disappointment.
The opponent celebrated pouring champagne,
confetti flying around the arena.
His teammates heading to the locker room.
He lied face down, tears gushing from his eyes.
And in that span of a fleeting moment,
his life flashed before his eyes:
His dying father calling his name;
the love of his life that got away;
his only shot at winning the gold.
All those times, he was a moment short.
Short of hearing his father’s voice.
Short of being with his true love.
Short of winning a title.
All that is too late now
because the moment has passed.
more at http://rudolphmusngi.com
Jedd Ong Feb 2015
Five AM.

Dawn is the one remnant of the 1800s left in all of us - the weather. And even that disappears quickly. The pockets of morning stuck between you and me, between this car, and that car, and Dawn's Appalachian highway slipping itself in between the SLEX and the sky take your breath away and slip past consciousnesses like faint dreams. You snap awake. ****** reminder that it's already

Five AM.

Faint strains of rooster crow and traffic whistle keeping you up despite your desire to sleep. This bus ride is meant for sleeping, rather. Your teammates lean on pillowcases shifting hues from black to gray to light pink to faint orange. You stare quietly out the ever shifting window. Somehow your eyes keep track of the streaks of light running alongside it. Somehow you're awake even if it's just

Five AM.

The sky is the one part of our cities that isn't yet covered in *******. Outlines of shantytowns and exhaust smoke belching smokestacks and piggeries and overpriced skyscrapers provide platforms for the sun's pink rays to shine upon but still it rises above it. With it. Through it. Over and around. Sunset mornings that glow with an innocent hue. Some say Apollo preferred the form of a young boy whenever he'd come down to Earth. Makes for easier running, I guess. The roads look wider at

Five AM.

The sky is the one part of our cities that isn't yet covered in *******. The time it takes for one photon of light to hit the surface of the Earth is eight minutes. Light is far. Light is distant and twisted and radiant. Light provides surface for the sky - paints the floors of heaven by which we gaze upon with bleary eyes and pray to. God walking on our ceilings. Humans knocking on our floors. Alarm clocks reminding me it's just

Five AM.

It's just

Five AM.
Emma N Boyer Apr 2013
Sweat glistens on her brow
She’s ready
The sun shines behind her head
She’s ready
Her shadow dances on the track
She’s ready
Her teammates’ eyes are on her back
She’s ready
The starter’s arm brings up the gun
She’s ready
Her muscles loose; prepared to run
She’s ready
She hears a whisper to her right
She’s ready
The gun goes off with blinding light
She’s ready
Nothing at all can stop her now
She’s ready
Blood slips slowly down her brow
She’s ready
She breaks the ribbon; wins the race
She’s ready
A reddened mask covers her face
She’s ready
The starting gun had shot no blank
She’s ready
The crowd’s cheers died and their hearts sank
She’s ready
The finish line is painted white
She’s ready
The runner lives until that night

— The End —