If I had a billion dollars
I’d buy a sports franchise
And make a special policy
To only hire guys
With super inappropriate surnames
Like Hitler, Kuntz, White-Powers,
And listen to the commentators
Say their names for hours…
Tag Archives: Sports
The Most Romantic Poem Ever That No Woman Will Understand
When my team is 8 and 6
And my fantasy QB gets sick
You’re the RB1 I start
And throw to when the ground is slick.
You’re the treadmill at the gym
In front of the TV
Where I can watch the Yankees lose
With nobody in front of me.
You’re someone I never thought
Was real, but here you are!
Like a white guy who hates frisbee sports
And never tried to learn guitar.
When I hold your hand I feel
Like I am good at math,
And if you asked me nicely
I might even take a bath.
I think you’re pretty naked
Or in a muumuu, though
I doubt there is a clothing item
That could dull your glow.
I would window shop with you
On our anniversary,
And when you sleep, on the toilet’s edge
I aim so you don’t hear me pee.
You smell like guacamole
And when you hold me tight
I forget to pull my belly in
And I know the world’s alright.
Filed under Poems
Daddy Is The Child, While The Daddy Is Childish
If I were a professional athlete
Who married a supermodel
And knew my progeny’s eventual genes
Would be cranking out talent full-throttle
I think I would name my son “Daddy”
Just to see the look on some faces
Whenever my son is revealed as the one
Who wins all the games and the races.
“Oh yes, Daddy’s enormous”
All the commentators would say
“And Daddy’s been known to dominate
“Everybody who stands in his way.”
Let’s say Daddy learned to play hockey…
I think that would sound pretty slick:
“Daddy comes quickly towards the goal!
“I love how he handles his stick!”
Daddy could master the breast stroke,
Or hook up with a tight end,
Dribble his ball for a lay-in
Or illegally use his hands “to defend.”
Yes, my athletic son Daddy
Would make even golf fun to watch…
But alas, God made me a poet
And no athlete shall be conceived by my crotch.
Filed under Poems
Tennis: 15, Baseball: Love (Football 6 +1 or +2)
The people writing the baseball rulebook
Really wrote down things like:
“When you throw a ball and it isn’t a ball
But it doesn’t get hit it’s a strike.”
But the people who wrote the tennis book
Just smiled, or so says the lore,
When they revealed their brand new way
To calculate the score.
Filed under Poems
Unfair Practice
Back when I was an athlete
In high school, I was late
To almost every practice
Which didn’t turn out great.
Coach made me do pushups,
Which would normally be fair
Except my father was the coach
And he’s the one who drove me there.
Filed under Poems
Better Than Anything Else On TV
Honestly, the most American sport
That no one’s thought of yet
Would have to be drunk NASCAR
(Or its equivalent)
Where the racers have to drink
A bunch if whiskey sours
Until they cannot walk, and then
Turn left for several hours.
It’s a last-man-standing race
That proves, HD and live,
That it is not a good idea
For one to drink and drive,
And yet some kids will spend their lives
Trying to be a pro.
Years later, in Utopia,
We’ll ask, “Where’d the dummies go?”
Filed under Poems
Guest Poem from Al Bundy
If marriage were like football
There would be no single men.
Every year they’d scout for wives
And draft a girl or ten
Then sign them to a contract
For a couple wondrous years
And give them shirts with numbers
And use them to sell beers.
We’d all have favorite teams of wives
Like the Ashleys or the Sophies
Who live in different cities
And try to win us trophies,
And when the best turn 40
(Or sometimes just 34)
We’d trade them off to other teams
And draft a dozen more.
If marriage were like football
Maybe life would be ok,
But instead it seems to be more like
The WNBA.
Filed under Poems
Some People Get Paid Millions For This…
If you have a friend who is male
Here’s a game that will never get stale:
Find a sports team or three,
Guess who’ll win, disagree…
You’ll be right half the time without fail!
Filed under Poems
If You Sell Love to Haters, Don’t Ask Why No One Is Buying
To those who make their homes beneath rocks
I offer this poetic plea
Regarding demonstrations by civilians and jocks
With the hopes you will listen to me.
Yes, it’s important all people are equals
And treated with love and respect.
Yes, there’s been push-back, misinterpretation,
But, frankly, what did you expect?
The symbols with which you display your ideals
May change some opinions for sure;
If I spit on a puppy and say “Yay world peace!”
You might doubt my intentions are pure.
Likewise if you stand for freedom and justice
By kneeling in front of a flag,
By fleeing from songs about love for our nation
Some people will think you’re a drag.
If instead when the anthem is sung by our siblings
And you stand to honor our banner
Those who disparage your reason for protest
No longer disparage its manner.
And after you’ve captured the ear of your rivals
You show them the point you want made
You swapped some derision for some indecision
And that is a valuable trade.
To those who were hateful and know are uncertain
You do not decry them as bad
But make your point clear and then disappear.
Don’t be an unskippable ad!
Don’t show what’s troublesome, worrying, scary
By showing disdain for what’s good.
Instead show you’re with us, then raise our awareness
And maybe we’ll do as we should.
And if we keep not being how you would wish us,
Disrespect you, or call you a name,
Consider the best way to make the world better
Is simply to not do the same.
I don’t ask this often, but if you agree with my perspective, please share this poem.
Share it with those who think as you do, because they’ll likely enjoy it too.
Share it with those with whom you disagree, for that is the path to the change we must see.
Share it with those who will argue and fight. You may not kill darkness, but you can shine a light.
Share it with those with whom you would be one, for we share the same air, the same earth, the same sun.
Filed under Poems, To the Reader
But Hockey? There’s A Great Sport!
Soccer’s like “The Notebook:”
I’ve never watched for more than a minute,
I consider it nap-time
And don’t like anyone in it.
Soccer and I
Are also much alike
In that no one ever scores
And the entertainment it creates has unsatisfying conclusions.
Filed under Poems
The Daily Travesty 