Well, it’s that time of year again – spring league sports. And just as I’m hauling out, dusting off, and tweaking the sports gear, I’m doing the same with my tribute to those of us with bleacher butt.
Here, with a few revisions because I can’t leave well-enough alone, is my:
Ode to a Sports Mom (or Dad)
I log many hours at the wheel of my car,
I drive you to games that are near and are far,
I lend you some comfort when you are in pain,
I sit through your games in the cold, driving rain.
I follow the rules of inscrutable sports,
I pre-treat the stains that you get on your shorts,
I empty the checking account for your fees,
And patch up your pants when you go through the knees.
I moan your despairs and I cheer for your feats,
I vacuum up crud you track in on your cleats,
I sit in the parking lot during your drills,
Bite my tongue during dust-ups and bruises and spills.
I doctor your wounds to avoid their infection,
Then I’m off to the sporting goods store for “protection”,
For all that I do, I merely exhort you,
To remember the numerous ways I “support” you.
So there it is, my song for spring. If you ever feel like singing it and you can’t remember the words, just turn around in your seat on the bleachers and ask – I’m sitting right behind you.
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