Sports Poems

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.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, "If only Casey could but get a whack at that--
We'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat."

But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a lulu, while the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to the bat.

But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.

Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It pounded on the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile lit Casey's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt;
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance flashed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped--
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one!" the umpire said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore;
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted some one on the stand;
And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the dun sphere flew;
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two!"

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!"
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.

The sneer has fled from Casey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go.
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and little children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville--great Casey has struck out

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
He was larger than life, like Flash Gordon

With the Bulls he was clearly the leader
With three kids, he was also a breeder
He could jump really high
That’s no word of a lie
Off the court he was quite the good deeder

In his prime he won titles galore
And controlled what went down on the floor
He got pounded each night
But he always took flight
He was graceful as Eva Gabor

Once he tried playing baseball, but stunk
As he couldn't hit pitches with junk
Also those that had none
So it wasn't as fun
As a drive through the paint for a dunk

He’s enjoyed spending time on the links
And he plays quite a lot, but he stinks
He has lost many bets
And incurred many debts
But his wife still wears diamonds and minks

After failing at 2 other sports
He returned to the basketball courts
Where he starred once again
Making boys out of men
Faking many right out of their shorts

Michael’s never been frugal or thrifty
On the court he was clever and shifty
He’s the greatest of all
Making hoops with a ball
Now this tall glass of water turns fifty

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
You were always such a scrapper
A raging thunderstorm
The day you shed your diaper
You donned a uniform.

Fear - never a factor
With the toughest, there you stood
You have the will, the soul,
the heart...
But I always knew you would
I watch you while you're sleeping
So still, so calm, serene
Once you step upon
That football field
You're one powerful machine.

I marvel at your talents
You're intense and dedicated
So keen, devoted, daring
Just as I anticipated
Your qualities are endless       
You're faithful, kind and true
Righteous and respected
A leader, Josh, that's you!

Watching you play any sport
Has always been a pleasure
You're masterful and focused
My pride - I cannot measure
And now my little scrapper
You've become a strapping man
So stay steadfast ... follow the sun
And be the best you can!

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,
But my heart yearns for it
It's the cure to all pain and the rescue from all fear
It's there when I need it, even if I choose not to feed it
When I want it, I get it, but never abuse it
It never talks back nor says I'm stupid
It's always there for every stride and every cry
It's my track and I know I'll never lose it

In a land of dreams
A little boy
With a stick of wood
His scrawny arms
They swing to shoot.

In a country full
Of hopeful hearts
They stand as one
In whatever else
They have been apart.

A study in saffron
Their eager faces
Their palms of green
Raised to bless
Their sons of soil
And with them
They also toil.

The winning stroke
It blazes through
Victory at last
Has flown to our boys
On golden wings
Where every feather
Was perhaps the stone
From every little boy
In a very small lane
When his scrawny arms
They swung to shoot.

One day my little boy of three
With great big smiling eyes
Said, "I'm going to play some football, Mom,
With all the bigger guys!"
Dressed in homemade football gear
You raced out towards the street
I chuckled to myself, but yet...
My heart plunged to my feet.
You came back in fifteen minutes
No scratches on your skin
With much dismay you then announced,
"They wouldn't let me in!"
You claimed they said you couldn't play
Because you were too small
I promised you you'd play one day
When you grew strong and tall.
My promise to you held so true
For now that time is here,
My smiling football player
Is in his senior year
I'm proud of you and all you've done
And for all that you will be
If I just had one wish, I'd wish
That you could still be three.

It's Friday night,
I've got a game.
We play the Indians,
My best friend's team.

My uniform's on.
It's only 4 o'clock.
Mom says we leave
5:30 on the dot.

Tonight's our first game.
I'm fast in my new cleats.
My glove's broken-in
'cause I've slept on it for weeks.

I'm still a little nervous
but not about playing.
I'm wondering which girls are there
and what I'm going to be saying.

The bull is in the gate
You lower yourself to rest on his back
He moos a threatening sound full of hate
You nod, you're out, there's no turning back
He takes off, you hold on for life
He twists, you follow, your body cracking
3 seconds in, he's winning
Your hand is weakening, your fingers cramping
5 seconds in, your full of pain
Your body says give up
Your mind says I can win
7 seconds in, you're almost done
Your hand starts slipping
8 seconds in, you hear the buzzer
You let go, fall down, stand up
Your legs are weak, your body quivering
But you won that silver buckle
On your belt, it slides
Another trophy from your
8 second rides

From the very first moment I saw them all,
I knew that this was who I wanted to be.
With my eyes wide open, looking around,
"Does everyone else see what I see?"

This is my life. It means the world to me.
This is my love, who I'm meant to be.
This is the calling of my destiny
This is me.
Hockey.

I sit on the porch and think of that night.
I was standing so close to fame.
He looked at me. I swear he glanced.

This is so much more than a game.

With a spray of snow and a spit on the ice,
He took the faceoff with pride.
He didn't even look back twice
As he flew to the offending side.

He passed it to Skinner who handled the puck
And carried it up the seam.
I pressed my eyes shut, just hoping for luck
And then I heard the crowd scream.

I jumped in unison with the crowd.
Sirens blasting the stadium dome.
I'd never heard anything quite so loud.

I knew I was finally home.

Hockey has been in me all along.
I just needed to know my own name,
To be able to see it was calling ME,

To see this is more than a game.

So I've said it before, and I'll say it again.
I'd tell the whole world without shame
This is the calling that comes from my heart.

This will always be more than a game.

What's going through your mind when you're running up the side, only 1 man to beat?
When he runs fast you'll run faster, can he take the heat?
What's going through your mind when the X is open for the 40 yard touchdown pass?
He catches the ball, and you hope this moment will always last.

What are you thinking about when there is a hole the size of Texas on the 28 toss?
What are you thinking about when you sack the QB for an 18 yard loss?

What's going through your mind when coach is yelling at you for dropping the ball?
Why is it that on kickoff you got stopped at the first wall?
Coach told your parents before the season that you would most definitely letter.
You gotta learn from your mistakes, always making yourself better.

You're a good player, but you got a big head, you think you're the best.
You don't listen during practice or do the drills, why you so different from all the rest?

What's going through your mind when everything starts to go bad?
What are you thinking about when you miss what you once had?
You're gettin' buried in the depth chart, grades slippin', where'd it all go?
You start to drink, thinking, who's gonna know?

You weren't a team player; you were only out there for yourself.
What was going through your mind when you saw there were no trophies on the shelf?

The dribble of the basketball,
The swish of the net,
The squeaking of my shoes against
The wood floor,
The passion and determination that
I feel is indescribable,
As sweat drips down my temples.

The basketball court is my home.
It is where all my thoughts and emotions
Are erased from my mind and all
I can think about is the basketball and
The hoop.

The court is a place that I can focus,
A place where I can put all of my
Thoughts and feelings into the
Things that are important to me.

Basketball is my life and
The court is where my
Life lives.