Posts Tagged ‘sports’

Los Angeles Lakers v Boston Celtics

His height made him great ’round the basket.
But sadly, poor Wilt blew a gasket.
Dismayed by his death,
We all held our breath –
Would Chamberlain fit in a casket?


© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.




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In futbol (soccer to us Yanks) –
When World Cup is the rage –
It is the greatest sport of all,
Upon the greatest stage.

The greatest players, greatest teams,
The lesser sifted out –
We watch as though a goldfish bowl,
And world is circled ‘bout.

The close-ups of the camera,
The replays o’er and o’er,
And varied angles give us looks
Of gills and fins and more.

We see the Greatest lie by flops,
And fake an injury,
How even Greatest cheat to win
Than by mere pedigree.

And all that’s done before our eyes
Without an ounce of shame.
It’s just the way all goldfish swim,
And play their fish-smell game.

And we, the world, with watching eyes
See darkness in the bowl.
We shake our heads in wonder at
The selling of the soul.

And when the bowl and ball is gone,
The fish back to the sea,
The world turns to its way of life
In World Cup mimicry.

From least to Greatest in the sea,
All play the fish-smell game.
And fakes and cheating is the way
To fortune, flesh, or fame.

And God, the All, with watching eyes,
Sees darkness in the bowl.
And shakes His head in anger at
The selling of the soul.


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2014.

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…..Sonnet 35 – Good People

On that same day that San Antonio
Won finals first game in their fifth ring quest,
The Denver Nuggets coach was told to go,
E’en though he led them to a franchise best.

Dwight Howard bid the Lakers bye in days,
And Kobe, left behind, refused a cut
That would have helped the Lakers mend their ways.
He’d take more millions, stay in lower rut.

But Spurs go on, as regular as clocks,
Precisely tuned so ev’ry part supports
Without the drama, ego of most jocks –
The best franchise in any of the sports.

Good people always bring about good things;
Sometimes, they’re even blessed with champion’s rings.

The poem is written about a day during the NBA playoffs in 2013. The Spurs went on to lose the championship when they had it in their grasp in game 6 with a 5 point lead over the Miami Heat with 28 seconds to go. The Denver Nuggets record for the 2012-2013 season was 57-25 and for the 2013-2014 fell to a mark of 36-46. To be fair, the situation in the sonnet was not the greatest factor in this year’s fall. They were over- whelmed by injuries to most of their starters. As a team, they missed a total of293 games due to injury or illness.

The success of the San Antonio Spurs:


4 championships since 1997
5 conference titles
11 division titles
15 straight years with 50 wins or more
won 70% of their games during that span
33 playoff appearances in 37 years in the NBA
tied for the best season record in 2013
best season record in 2014 (62-20)


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(Photo credit: mvongrue)

March MADness

Florida WHO???
Beat number two!
That smashing sound,
Heard world around,
That awful racket
Was just my bracket
And Hoyas (Georgetown)
As both crashed down.


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2013.

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Academy football game.

Image via Wikipedia

The Fifth Season

Four quarters
Green stadium grass
Football fields.


Do You Know Where Your Children Are?

Football field
Where ambulance parks
Friday nights.


* The haiku I write are lines of 3-5-3 syllables instead of 5-7-5.
See Haiku article here for explanation, if needed:


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2011.

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It looked extremely rocky for the Mudville nine that day;
The score stood two to four, with but one inning left to play.
So, when Cooney died at second, and Burrows did the same,
A pallor wreathed the features of the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go, leaving there the rest,
With that hope which springs eternal within the human breast.
For they thought: “If only Casey could get a whack at that,”
They’d put even money now, with Casey at the bat.

But Flynn preceded Casey, and likewise so did Blake,
And so the former was a pudd’n, and the latter was a fake.
So on that stricken multitude a deathlike silence sat;
For there seemed but little chance of Casey’s getting to the bat.

But Flynn let drive a “single” to the wonderment of all.
And the much despised Blakey “tore the cover off the ball.”
And when the dust had lifted, and they saw what had occurred,
There was Blakey safe at second, and Flynn a-huggin’ third.

Then from the gladdened multitude went up a joyous yell –
It rumbled in the mountaintops, it rattled in the dell;
It struck upon the hillside and rebounded on the flat;
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Casey’s manner as he stepped into his place,
There was pride in Casey’s bearing and a smile on Casey’s face;
And when responding to the cheers he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt ’twas Casey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt,
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt;
Then when the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance glanced in Casey’s eye, a sneer curled Casey’s lip.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped;
“That ain’t my style,” said Casey.  “Strike one,” the umpire said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm waves on the stern and distant shore.
“Kill him! kill the umpire!” shouted someone on the stand;
And it’s likely they’d have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.

WIth a smile of Christian charity great Casey’s visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult, he made the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew;
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, “Strike two.”

“Fraud!” cried the maddened thousands, and the echo answered “Fraud!”
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed;
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain;
And they knew that Casey wouldn’t let the ball go by again.

The sneer is gone from Casey’s lips, his teeth are clenched in hate,
He pounds with cruel vengeance his bat upon the plate;
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey’s blow.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright,
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light;
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout.
But there is no joy in Mudville – Mighty Casey has struck out.

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(June 13, 2011, the day after Dallas beat Miami
and LeBron James to win the NBA championship)

Oh, to be in Dallas
On this Monday morn,
And be a Dallas Maverick man
While tooting on a horn.

Oh, to be in Dallas
Now the prize is won,
To join in the spreading joy
Since they are number one.

Oh, to be in Dallas,
The place they call Big D.
Today it is a better place
Than here in Miami.


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2011.

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