Strong

Roller coaster games

go with the season.

Let’s build it up.

Hard practices

Jammed fingers throb

Banged knees

A loss that hurts deep

Together, we grow…

…strong.

Rivals come at us

trying take us down.

Coach yells the mantra.

“Tough D”

“Hands high”

“Cut the baseline”

“Take care of the ball.”

Together, we breathe...

...strong.

Down by seventeen.

A title on the line.

Let’s chip away.

Crash the boards

Teamwork passing

A three

Steal the ball and go

Together, we play…

...strong

On into tournaments,

a David with a stone.

Let’s raise our chin.

Look ‘em in the eye

Let them see the fire in ours

Here we come

A team that plays hard.

Together, we stand…

...strong

Give Me A B!

Be it out on a chilly night

    or in a bright gymnasium,

Dressed in his olive drab jacket,

    this door-gunner veteran

    will stand to the crowd and yell,

“C’mon Bobcats! Let’s Get Excited!”

    And with a pump of a fist,

“Give me a B!”

How many time has he stood?

    How many time has he rallied?

Sometimes twice a game.

    He’s called out when we were ahead

    or during time out of a key play.

And, we have looked with hope

    to our Bobcat Man to lead.

“Give me a B!”

Today, we proudly stand together

    with a salute to him.

We are dressed in green

    to emulate his Bold, Brash,

    Bravado of a Barbaric cheer.

We are the Bobcat Nation!

    And with a fist held high, we yell,

"Give me a B!"

Fireworks

Ready, set, explode.

The squad bursts into motion.
"Whatever It Takes!"
rattles the fans.
Cheers shake the roof.

The mat pops with tumbles,
hand springs and cartwheels.
The Audience watches the
flash and sparks of spirit
erupting into pyramids
with flyers shooting
high into the air.

Sounds vibrate the gym.
A calliope of tucks, tumbles and toe touches are
pinnacled with elevators, extensions
and double twists
bursting skyward.
The crowd applauds the
choreographed motion of exuberant skill that
explodes and illuminates the mat
in a spectacular display
that is a rowdy, beautiful cheer
of Fireworks!

Tough Chick

My muscles are pool noodles.

    My ankle is swollen.

I have bruises and a floor burn.

    But I will play on;

        I am a tough chick.

The ball was alien.

    My hands were dead fish.

My head unclear with trash talk.

    But I will play on;

        I am a tough chick.

Like in movies and in history,

    Like in this game and the others,

There are women who stood tall and said,

    I will play on;

        I am a tough chick.

So I will shake it off,

    And I will face all doubts.

My ankle is taped.

    Time to suck it up and go.

Pass me the ball and be ready!

    I will play on;

        I am a tough chick.


For Grace

Helmet to the Stone

Late October, on a cool Friday night,
the battle done for the season.
A young man in gridiron gear
stopped at a rock at the base of a flag
placed in memory of a dedicated coach
and put his helmet to the stone.

The polymer plastic gritted against
the great rock, and its chiseled words.
He held it there, his head down in
a private moment of silence.
Not far away, fans marched by seeing
him with his helmet to the stone.

The player, sweat soaked and muddy,
bloodied knuckles, hair plastered to his head,
stoically poised, a picture of youth,
of hard work and of love for the game,
reflected heart, pride and sadness
with his helmet to the stone.

Letters cut with steel deep into the rock
say a name and date of a man
who passed on a legacy of character
to all the players who took the field with him.
Late October, a player, a boy at heart, 
proudly, reverently, put his helmet to the stone.

(a verse for Duane)
Years later, early July, some hot days.
The battle fought, another hero gone.
He played for the love. He played hard
As an Oriole, Chippewa, Crusader, and Patriot.
His heart held community and family close.
“Five more minutes,” helmet to the stone.

Set It Up

SET

Commands coach

As the guard crosses mid-court,

Arm raised, two fingers out.

Two, he yells, running the offense.

Forward cuts to the high post.

Center drops down the paint.

The ball passes left,

Reverse, swing it round.

Shuffle, step, pick is set.

Turn, bounce pass…..

IT,

However, had started on day one

When coach called all to the base line,

Running passing drills, lay-ups,

Conditioning with sprints.

Then it became the go to play,

The bread and butter routine,

Going for the bucket.

Only here, it varies with

Three on the clock, down by one.

UP

Goes the ball,

From the fingertips with patience

To the hoop with urgency;

A title on the line.

A touch on the glass,

Held breath, roll on the rim,

A cheer from the crowd.

Completes the play that took a season.