Postmodern Sports

People pay for paper

To play games of skill and chance

Where whoever bought the biggest bad

Will do the victory dance.

Boys will bash their brains in

To gain a yard or two

To prove their color’s mascot

Can score more points than you.

Folks will flee their families

To clock another hour

In hopes they’ll earn an office

That will make their colleagues cower.

I could go on forever

Making metaphors like these

But instead I’ll pose a “Let’s suppose”

To replace pastimes like these.

When you look past the colors

And the titles and the flags

It’s really just a contest

Of the biggest moneybags

So why not have a contest

Where we burn a stack of cash

And the champion of the world is he

With the longest-burning ash?

This money-burning contest

Will be framed as needing skill

And is an excellent opportunity

To sell a snack/drink/pill.

Heck, make a legal system

Where your life goes up in flame

And share it on a TV show

To keep building the game!

Then fans of sports and politics

And work and sex and war

Can celebrate the waste of time

While laughing at the poor.

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