Somewhere in Heaven
The Gods all look down
At the biggest of cities
And the tiniest town,
They watch people playin’
And workin’ and sleepin’
(It’s okay that they watch us
‘Cause Gods can’t be creepin’).
They shout for our victories,
Sob for our failings,
But one thing holds constant
For all of their wailings:
All Gods will swear
On all that is pious
That those damned referees
Are all fuckin’ biased.
Filed under Poems
If their best player’s white
You’re not doing it right.
Filed under Poems
There’s an argument in the USA
About soccer teams and equal pay
‘Cause men got paid more overall
Despite the women winning all the way.
The other side of this tirade
Says the male players are underpaid
Because the revenue their team produced
Was 55 times more than the women’s team made.
Now how revenue or standings weigh
On the importance scale I can’t say.
The real question is, in 2019,
Why won’t this stupid sport just go away?
Vikings killed a lot of folks;
Bears and lions too.
Warriors kill a lot of folks
‘Cause that’s just what they do.
Tigers, dolphins, bulldogs, eagles
Kill lots of stuff, and yet
No high school that I know of
Has picked a Hitler mascot yet.
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I think that women’s basketball
And the WNBA
Deserve credit for helping
So many girls admit they’re gay.
But when they start demanding
More fair and equal pays
It behooves them to remember
That you can’t have both these days.
See, the typical NBA guy
Eats 2,000 pounds per day
Is 12 feet tall and has a trunk
And their skin is tough and gray.
The typical WNBA-er
Is about the same, you see
Except no one will pay to see her
‘Cause she’s only five-foot-three.
At one game we ask “do you think
“Shaquille can dunk on Mike?”
At the other game we wonder
“You think that one’s not a dyke?”
But if you score a hundred points
In every single game
And hire a player anyone
Would recognize by name
And sell out any contest
Then we’ll pay you like Jeff Teague.
Until you do, just be content
That you still have a league.
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As I jogged through the locker room door
Coach was shouting “This is what we play for!”
I said “What coach means to say
“Is ‘this is that for which we play.'”
I guess that questioning coach’s decision
To end a cheer with a preposition
Resulted in, so it would seem,
My no longer being on the team.
While you might expect, after my blunder,
That I hope, in my absence, the team goes under
I don’t seek vengeance for my woes…
And it’s “In my absence I hope under is where my team goes.”
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‘Twas the week before football
And all through the States
Everyone outside Boston
Came to terms with their fates.
So many Don’taes,
Tyrones, and Lamars
Checked if Wendy’s needed
Someone who could lift cars.
Meanwhile those lucky
To remain on their teams
Prayed the ACL gods
Would not ruin their dreams.
The fans were all cozy
Wrapped up on their couches
While the TV says who’ll be
The sleepers and slouches.
And a tenth of a billion
Mostly female folks
Didn’t see the appeal
Of tackling blokes,
Yet still two-hundred-million
Pulled on overpriced shirts
With the last name of someone
Whose whole body hurts.
They’ll sit back to watch
As the combat begins.
They’ll be happy as long
As their animal wins.
Filed under Poems
