“Confessions Of A Born Spectator”

I had intended to offer a substantial post today, but instead I am only sharing this inspired bit of verse from one of my favorite poets, Ogden Nash. It is ten times better than anything I would have written, anyway.

Confessions of a Born Spectator

One infant grows up and becomes a jockey,

Another plays basketball or hockey,

This one the prize ring hates to enter

That one becomes a tackle or center,

I am just glad as glad can be

That I am not them, that they are not me.

With all my heart I do admire

Athletes who sweat for fun or hire,

Who take the field in gaudy pomp,

And maim each other as they romp.

My limp and bashful spirit feeds

On other people’s heroic deeds.

Now A runs ninety yards to score;

B knocks the champion to the floor;

C, risking vertebrae and spins,

Lashes his steed across the line.

You’d think my ego it would please

To swap positions with one of these

Well, ego it might be pleased enough,

But zealous athletes play so rough;

They do not ever, in their dealings;

Consider one another’s feelings.

I’m glad that when my struggle begins

Twixt prudence and ego, prudence wins.

When swollen eye meets gnarled fist

When snaps the knee, and cracks the wrist,

When officialdom demands,

Is there a doctor in the stands?

My soul in true thanksgiving speaks

For this modest of physiques.

Athletes, I’ll drink to you or eat with you,

Or anything except compete with you,

Buy tickets worth their radium,

To watch you gamble in the stadium,

And reassure myself anew,

That you are not me and I’m not you


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