Out on the diamond I feel like a kid again,
Yet after each practice and game, my age settles back in.
My muscles would ache and bones feel sore,
A little ice and some ointment and I'm better than before.

A few moments each game I would steal far away,
Back to a time when I could still play.
The boyhood memories came rushing back in,
Just like a good slider complete with the spin.

That ol' team was a rough and tumble bunch,
We would play all day and never eat lunch.
We would play anyone, anytime, anywhere,
But no other team could give us a scare.

That old sandlot is still there today,
Now sadly the boys no longer come to play.
The grass grows tall where home plate once stood,
A long forgotten landmark in the old neighborhood.

"Coach, hey Coach" I hear from a place far, far away,
"Are you going to pitch to me sometime today?"
Suddenly, I am standing back on the mound,
Surrounded by my players just milling around.

I am back to the game, with you at last,
My boyhood memories tucked back in the past.
"Hey Coach, everything alright" I am asked with a grin,
"Just perfect kid. Hey, thanks again."

He missed the pass, yet tackled hard,
the team fell to defeat,
Yet little "Johnny" smiled his smile
his little body beat...

Mother proud - naturally!
Thinking "Oh, this terrific kid of mine"
as he ran into his Dad's arms,
he heard, "Better luck next time!"

"Danny didn't fair so well,
as he walked into the crowd
his parents' words were harsh
their voices cruel and loud.

"You missed that pass! Where was your head?"
they said with a frown.
With saddened eyes, "Danny" looked up at them.
"I'm sorry I let you down."

How sad it is to realize
there are those who still can't understand
that a kid is just a kid
and a game is just a game.

So, Mom and Dad, please remember
in all you say and do,
That little child is listening
and needs support from you!

-- Submitted by Nancy Cole from Middletown

Below the jaw, a gentle punch,
A flying kick, the dental lunch,
Incisor, cuspid, bent to munch,
The wiser lad, intent to crunch

Machida, raring from Brazil,
(the masses staring, glaring still)
He passed Rashad this snoozing pill:
Out-sassed his bruising, martial skill.

2 Thousand Nine, 2-Thousand-Ten:
Light Heavyweight belonged to him,
The Octagon, his private gym
He made, when his left upper limb

Extended as his fist, all dense,
Blending mass and jaw, all tense,
While karma - justice - providence
Combined within the stop-sign fence.

The sign glared - not toward Ly it bade
(the symbol shouting, "Shad be slayed
His reign we ended, madly flayed").
His bane though, kin, Machida made.

So when a year's sun rose and set
Then clearly came a twin-regret,
The fray re-massed, and then begat:
A K-O lost Ly's Rua spat.

A great one knows the uphill climb.
A fate, one grows: slow, grim, sublime,
While one dim truth attends the mind:
akin, the Loss and Win combine.

No Loss falls solely evil then;
No Win's all holy, without sin.
The mate who mixes both their troy
Fate fixes stronger, with alloy.

-- Submitted by Neal Dachstadter from Baton Rouge, LA

In this scheme of deep and thrilling passion,
I face all my foes, my battles, my wars;
Wars of defense and haughty aggression,
While my heart becomes restless, beating its core . . .

Sweat across my brow hotly burns my skin.
No other expression or word or thought
Can tell the pleasure of my soul within;
For 'twas this passion from where joy was brought.

So with this dry tear in my eye, I stand . . .
(Lord, what will my heart -- a passivist -- bring?)
This round of dear affection in my hand,
Will soar so proudly, slicing the pale string.

The time has come, I am now whole, in all,
As I play my sweet game of basketball.

-- Submitted by Karen from Toronto, Ontario, Canada

Basketball is the sport of kings,
From the toss of the jump ball
to when the buzzer rings.
In basketball you have to try your best,
Once you do you'll beat all the rest.
If you want to win, never lose hope,
When there is a problem, learn to cope.
Take your shots with confidence,
Never with incompetence
Jump up for a rebound with all your might,
Don't ever do it in a state of fright.
Ask for help when you're in need,
For if you don't, you'll never succeed.

-- Submitted by Nick Schuelke from Rockford, MI

I am a skateboard
Flying through the air.
Doing anything because
I don't really care.
Flipping and grinding
With all my might.
Once I catch some air,
I know I'm in flight.

Spinning and twisting
With my natural-born flair.
Swirling like the blade
That is cutting my hair.
Being watched by my fans,
While doing my best.
With the sweat running down my chest,
I know in my heart
I'm better than the rest.

But I have to confess
Why I am the best?
It is the heart that my God gave me
Planted in my chest.

-- Submitted by Brian M. from College Park, MD

 Two teams who are the best
Will play each other and be put to the test

 A Giant year of injuries and plays observed
Did he really give him the sack he deserved?

 Fired coaches, primadonnas who play
Moss and Green grass will not be on the field today.

 The winners won't play on the Frozen Tundra that day
And hope 49 seconds is enough for a play

 You bet a Buc and pray your team will win
and deliver the Parcel without chagrin

 You'll watch your team Ram through the line
Like a Bear or an Eagle ready to dine.

 A lover may take your wife and Steel'er away
And Pack'er in a Jet to take her today

 For when it's all over and the teams take their toll
You know you are ready for the Superbowl.

 -- Submitted by Mary G. from Tampa, FL

The Time
The Effort
The pain
The Passion
The Strength
The Courage
You sacrificed it all for
The love of the game

Happiness
Spirit
Dreams
Success
Respect
Enthusiasm
You gained it all from
The love of the game

-- Submitted by H. Harper from Burlington, ON, Canada