Sports are complex in that they are a way to escape our lives as well as a way to look at our lives in a clearer way. In the world of sports the line of victory and defeat is quite clear. There is no question of what team you are on or what position you play within the team. These things are not always clear in real life. Escaping to the world of sports is an opportunity to think about these questions in our own lives.
The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day;
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play,
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
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Water pounds within my ears,
my stomach twists with all my fears.
The race begins with the sound of a gun;
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Keep your eyes on the prize
Watching for the finish line
Taking in another breath of air
You realize in just a few minutes
How can you say it's just a game
When I've been pushed all my life to reach goals
Told to work harder than my opponent
All along being shaped and molded
I'm running to cleanse my soul.
"From what? To where?"
At this moment I do not care.
Rain drops beat against my face.
My sport
The big jumps, bruises, and broken bones
The blood that pours from open wounds
The stitches needed to mend the cuts
I start up my bike it feels so right. Give it some gas now it warm I take off with a roar. I ride to the track put my goggles on I line up at the starting gate look around 20 other guys right...
There’s a fellow we knew as Air Jordan
Years ago many planes he was boardin’
When he left his abode
To play games on the road
When my thoughts are too heavy,
My feelings too numb,
When my heart is unsteady,
And the tears start to come,
As an athlete, I like running, so I love the 2nd stanza.
Only for those of a special breed,
Living a dream, a chance to succeed,
Yesterday's hopes and desires coming true,
Making your mark with records anew
Freestyle
water, strokes
kicking, stocking, working
diving into the pool
swimming
He floats like a butterfly,
He stings like a bee.
That's why they call him
Muhammad Ali.
As I stand on that muddy grass field,
The roar of the cheering crowds
Is all I seem to hear.
No specific voices; it's all just a blur.
This poem is quite amazing, and I am sure that a lot of people would be touched like the way I have. I have a friend who enjoys this poem because she plays football. It is very substantial to...
The dribble of the basketball,
The swish of the net,
The squeaking of my shoes against
The wood floor,
Thinking back through all the years
How swiftly they've passed by
I close my eyes and bite my lip
Try so hard not to cry
On Friday nights
Underneath the lights
That shine so bright
We play the game
Raise the door or just take off the cover,
there she sits just waiting for us to hover.
Our first glance we know she waits,
As a bike rider I can relate to this, when you're out there with your mates it's hard to explain, the freedom you feel, and at peace with your mind.
My feet stick the black rubber
It's like some kind of magnetic tape
Day after day, it pulls me back
For not only does my body demand it,
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