futbol

My daughter used to play soccer,
What the rest of the world calls football,
On various teams of varying skills,
All over the city and beyond,
Did travel teams for a coupla years,
Played in Midland, Bay City, Freeland,
Auburn Hills, Battle Creek, Saginaw,
Royal Oak, Troy, and places too numerous.
Sat on the sidelines and just watched,
Along with the other parents and relations,
Getting fat and graying, no longer playing,
Felt my youth slipping, so flipn frustrating,
Rotting away from the inside, stuck sitting,
Watching, ruminating, from the sidelines.
Some of us spectators were has-beens,
Most were never-beens, bleating and berating,
Harassing the kids from the comfort of our lawn chairs,
Prodding and pushing, yelling and haranguing,
Forcing the children to succeed where we failed,
Just so we could ride on their coattails.
So we walked away from the pitch,
The game wasn’t to blame, but the parents,
Yelling and arguing, drinking and fighting,
From the sidelines, fronting and confounding,
Took all the joy out of that kingly sport,
Shaking our heads, left us asking why.
So now we skate, individually and together,
When we can, when the spirit is willing,
Achy joints and scabby knees,
Road rash on elbows and hands,
No one yelling or prodding,
Pushing ourselves, no one else,
Living for the stoke and ourselves.