Number four, said the coach,
Is afraid of the ball. He'll grab
What he can, move nowhere, fake
A shot, but pass - to thin air.
In that he is like you, he said,
He is like everyone in that he
Does not ever see his path forward.
The coach talked, and we listened,
And the numbers on the board
Blinked, inevitably, to zero.
This was our game, our big night,
Our crowning glory, and they
Were tall, ugly, skilled but not fast
We were mean, deadly, intense
Dancing and flying, searching
I watched from the side, watched
My friends and the strangers and
The glory and strength etched
In drops of sweat, in scowls, in grins
Forever in their past. Basketball
Exists only in the present, not in
What was done or last quarter but
Here. Now. The ball flying through space.

Shot after shot, we scored -
Shot for shot, they matched us.
Down to the last seconds, the last
Hope for us, for me, the crowd
Rocking the gym with their cheers, and
Four on the outside, always, grabbing
And passing, like he was not even
A part of us. Coach was right.
I saw the numbers fly, suddenly
Four was there, aiming...to fake?
We ran for him, wolves, blocking
His shot, but he went ahead
And the ball went clearly through.
Shocked silence, then a roar of sound
We landed, breathing hard, on knees,
On hands, stomachs, feet
But strangely, I did not watch
Coach's angry eyes or hear the
Patient grumbling of my friends foiled
But I watched four, and his face
Grew warm with the dawn of confidence.

Only, I know how it feels
In the heat of the sun
Riding on my wheels
Living for fun
Only I know how it feels

The wind on my face
As I hot rod down the trails
Soaring throught space
Only I know how it feels

Mud flying through the air
As I fly through the mud
Getting the four wheeler all muddy
Only I know how it feels

Flying through the air
Is such a thrill
Not having a care
Only I know how it feels

The pitch war rages; It's kick off time
The cloth cap Kings begin to sing
Weather worn faces chant in line
Cursing and urging the team to win

But behind closed doors
There's so much more
Than there was before
A Brand
A Label
Transfer cash on the table
Agents and players
On maximum wages

It's the state of play in the English game
'The Beautiful Game' of the proletariat
The Prawn Sandwich Brigade support the overpaid
While we're being used to feed the fattest of cats

Billionaire 'benefactors'
Outpaying all detractors
Gangster wheeler dealers
Totaletarian ex-leaders
Sweat shop merchandisers
Buying clubs then capitalising

The punters cough up the coffers
Ticket prices always rising? Not surprising
Cheap 'this and that' tat that up's the profit
Multi millions in sponsors and advertising

Grand ground improvement schemes
Who'll build the next Theatre of Dreams?
At the cost of those who have the least
The ones who turn up every other week

We pay for those in the directors box
Who throw money around like it's out of date
A continual profit at the supporters cost
Those cloth cap Kings outside the gates

Until...

The pitch war rages; It's kick off time
The cloth cap Kings begin to sing
Weather worn faces chant in line
Cursing and urging the team to win

Every Cubs fan can go to hell, I hope they can hear me when I yell.

Wait ‘til next year as always applies, the Sox are riding sky high.

Sit back and watch and you’ll see the Sox again in the World Series.

So stay up North with eye-liner stains in your eyes

The Cubs or fans can’t even measure up to our guys

Keep your OLD park that borders a neighborhood where men who look at you in their eyes have a gay spark

When the game is over you better leave quick before you get stuck in the ass
with some guys dick

When you’re on your way home, I guarantee you won’t be alone there will be a guy with a gleam in his eye ready to mug you and then break out the K-Y

So come down south and watch a game so you can leave the same way you came
and thats a world series champ

i broke my finger once.
it caused just a wince
of discomfort,
mostly because
it meant wasting time
on x-rays and trying
to keep the cast dry
while taking a shower.
it was one of those ohwells,
like when a car breaks down
on the way to a football game -
a pity, but not much more that that.

that was before
i started playing golf.
now - a sprained thumb
of my right hand!
the agony of not being able
to grip the club properly
for few days is just
too much to bear,
shit !