Quite buried in this week in progress is the hockey news,
Although two teams have got, it seems, the “got no money blues.”
Forget the baseball hot stove league. No time right now for that.
The in’trest in most other sports would fit inside your hat.
And no one much is worrying about big Shaq O’Neal,
Who’s dumb as two bags full of rocks if he can’t really feel
That when he mocked Yao Ming with his derisive faux Chinese,
Shaq only mocked himself and showed the world at large that he’s
A half-bright jock who’s fun to watch, but not much fun to hear…
That’s only one of many stories bound to disappear
In this, the time of football’s triumph, week of Super hype,
When every writer working just as fast as he can type
Is telling us about the tattoos on each tackle’s butt,
And of the center who, twelve years ago was almost cut
From his beloved 6th grade team, and then the coach said “kid,
You have to want it bad.” And from then on the center did.
We’ll know the fav’rite TV shows of all the running backs,
And what each lineman eats for breakfast, lunch, and seven snacks.
We’ll learn more than we want to know about the coach’s house,
And why he’s never there, although you can’t say he’s a louse,
Because his fam’ly, and we’ll read about it, knows it’s right,
That no team wins if dad, the coach, don’t stay at work all night.
And that is just the start in this, the week of football glut,
The stream, the water fall, the deluge has us shouting “shut
Up! I beg you, radio, TV, and magazine
Give us a rest from football, and the loud and vi’lent dream
That grabs a needy nation at this dark time of the year
And causes common sense to run and hide, or disappear.
I know, I’m out of step with all the hordes that watch the game,
And my life would be easier if I’d just do the same,
And roar with all the multitudes “The Super Bowl is groovy,”
Instead I’ll slip out Sunday like a freak and see a movie.