by Tim Chiu
How frustrating sports can be and a way out - a poem.
Sports precision's a real trick.
Nothing we try seems to click
We become enraged and sick...
With every pounce, we seek a prize
But with tons of pizzazz, we realize
Maybe playing's not so wise
Gasping pleas and expletive cries.
But sometimes efforts must take hold
Make it work, don't be too bold
Ability is framed, controlled
You'll sustain, you’ll break the mold!
Play begins, wind in our sax
But first is what that player lacks
Posture, timing, earn your stacks
Caring how the place reacts...
Success envisioned, though it’s cold
When we aim, we’re growing old
Major honor, being told
But someday soon, we’ll go for gold!