High School Basketball*

Basketball's a curious sport.
Seen with its stands and roomy arena,
It's no wonder we witness many hyena.
There should be drama, action in this court,
But what we see is civil tort!

Fans

Basketball's a curious game.
'Cause when we see one,
We're not the same.
While players are gentle men,
Or ladies on the floor,
We allow the fans to leave
Their angelic frocks at the door.
The nicest kid on the other side,
We want to tan his lousy hide.
Or some hot shot kid we don't know
Becomes the enemy:
His skill--he's not supposed to show!
And if he does
And gives our team a bath
All he gets is thankless wrath.

Refs

And I think the refs are curious folk.
They run, sweat, soak and get excited.
You'd think that they' been invited.
Why do they come every Saturday eve?
Our praises for them never get old.
You'd think them some tickets we'd readily sold!
In service they call all the calls the same.
And we repeat so religiously
What they've always been told:
"Hey, ref, yer missin' a good game."

Basketball's a sport that's tough,
Not for sissies afraid of ruff.
But how hard you fight
With all your gristle
Will ne'er change the open mind
Of the man with the whistle.

Coaches

Basketball is finesse and grace,
Executed as battle,
Not a pretty face.
A shot or position so well taken,
'Times you'd think he'd stole the bacon.
But some coach pops--
He always does--with stern grimace,
"Hey, pick up your socks.
Get in his face!"

Players

And you on defense,
In earnest you get set.
Innocent you look
Without a growl.
The offense runs you over with insistence:
And all you hear up in the distance:
"How many steps does he get
Before you call a foul?"

And amid a growing sob,
Not for you but the call,
Another standside coach yells,
"Hey ref, get a job!"

And amid the win and loss
And all that holler,
It's up to you to care
And to bother
About how much you score
And whether it counts
and more.

Remember, the game's for you,
Those who play it.
But like life and the world,
It ain't perfect.
Do your best each and together,
Feel the spirit, fun and flair,
And hope the ref--he hasn't lied.
Hope his call's on your side.
Hope for you sake he's more than fair.

The Game

Basketball--win or losses--
It's the same frustration.
Like life all 'round you,
There are jackasses.
And smart ones, too,
In consternation:
"Hey, ref, wanna borrow my eye glasses?"

And when all is said and done,
The game decides,
The final gun,
Remember, players, of both sides:
You or they are not to blame.
It takes at least two to play the game.

___
*Composed in the mid '80s.