In any team sport, the best teams have consistency and chemistry.
quote by Roger Staubach
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poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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University Of Central Florida Volleyball
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poem by Caasder Fronds
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In This Existence
A consistency of a love wanted and missed,
Seems as I age with desire for it...
To grow distant from my wishes.
I thought I had been in its midst,
On more than just one occasion.
But as misunderstandings go...
So did my feelings,
For a long lasting relationship.
Since this was not on someone else's list.
Someone I believed matched perfectly my wish.
A consistency of a love wanted and missed,
Seems as I age with desire for it...
To grow distant from my wishes.
But I'm hoping on my journey I will know,
What the having of true love means...
With a sharing it to grow.
I thought I had been in its midst,
On more than just one occasion.
But as misunderstandings go...
So did my feelings,
For a long lasting relationship.
This was not on someone else's list.
I learned to release with a letting go of it.
Although...
I am forever the optimist.
I'm hoping on my journey I will know,
What the having of true love means...
With a sharing it to grow,
In this existence.
That is my wish,
In this existence.
A consistency of a love,
Wanted and not to miss.
In this existence,
I remain optimistic...
For a consistency of a love,
Wanted and not to miss.
That is my wish,
In this existence.
For a consistency of a love,
Wanted and not to miss.
In this existence,
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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poem by Caasder Fronds
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The Shepherds Calendar - July
Daughter of pastoral smells and sights
And sultry days and dewy nights
July resumes her yearly place
Wi her milking maiden face
Ruddy and tand yet sweet to view
When everywhere's a vale of dew
And raps it round her looks that smiles
A lovly rest to daily toils
Wi last months closing scenes and dins
Her sultry beaming birth begins
Hay makers still in grounds appear
And some are thinning nearly clear
Save oddly lingering shocks about
Which the tithman counteth out
Sticking their green boughs where they go
The parsons yearly claims to know
Which farmers view wi grudging eye
And grumbling drive their waggons bye
In hedge bound close and meadow plains
Stript groups of busy bustling swains
From all her hants wi noises rude
Drives to the wood lands solitude
That seeks a spot unmarkd wi paths
Far from the close and meadow swaths
Wi smutty song and story gay
They cart the witherd smelling hay
Boys loading on the waggon stand
And men below wi sturdy hand
Heave up the shocks on lathy prong
While horse boys lead the team along
And maidens drag the rake behind
Wi light dress shaping to the wind
And trembling locks of curly hair
And snow white bosoms nearly bare
That charms ones sight amid the hay
Like lingering blossoms of the may
From clowns rude jokes they often turn
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They oft affect as not to hear
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And trees to brake the northern wind
While masters oft the sultry hours
Will urge their speed and talk of showers
When boy from home trotts to the stack
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poem by John Clare
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Twin State
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poem by Caasder Fronds
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Adrienne Vittadini
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poem by Caasder Fronds
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Who's Better Than The One Who's Done It
Who's best to deliver and with an expected...
Consistency.
'Who's better than the one who has already done it? '
Who's best to deliver the better effect,
And...
With consistency?
'Who's better than the one who has already done it?
Who's better than the one who has already done it? '
The one who's done it?
'Yes.'
And with a proving of to admit.
The one who's don't it...
'Yes...
And with consistent prolificness.'
Who's best to remove any left regrets...
And with a doing of consistency?
'Well...
The one who's done it.
And with a proving of to admit.
The one who's don't it...
And with consistent prolificness.'
Who's best to leave several people pleased,
And with a proven consistency?
'Well...
Who's better than the one who's done it?
Well who's better than the one who's done it.'
Who's best to remove any left regrets?
'Well...
Who's better than the one who's done it? '
Who's best to leave several people pleased?
'Well...
Who's better than the one who's done it?
And still manages to leave them stunned.
Well...
Who's better than the one who's done it?
Well who's better than the one who's done it,
And still manages to leave them stunned.'
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Birth of Celtic
In eighteen hundred and eighty-eight
Brother Walfrid walked along the Gallowgate,
Were immigrants of Ireland walked the streets,
No food in their stomachs, no shoes on their feet.
These souls of the famished Irish nation
Had made their home in Glasgow’s east end,
Ridiculed & provoked by the Protestant majority
Who could not accept the Irish faith & identity.
In Scotland’s east coast, Edinburgh, the capital,
Had saw the rise in the game of football,
Where a team, Hibernian, played under Ireland’s harp,
And brought victory with them onto the park.
And Brother Walfrid, a Marist priest,
Saw poverty prosper in his parish,
He suggested a savior to the Irish nationalist
Who had never seen a ball been kicked on a pitch.
A team would be organized; a stadium would be built,
Players would be sourced who had courage & skill,
And the income generated from watching the team,
Would feed the tables of Irish families & children.
Players were asked, some where even stolen,
From teams like Cowlairs and Renton,
Land was rented that was barren and unkept;
History was about the wake the giant that slept.
Glasgow’s Irish saw Brother Walfrid’s dream come true
As an organized football team now grew,
A Celtic cross was stitched to a white jersey,
As preparations were made for a “friendly”.
Glasgow Rangers, the visitors, took to the field,
Already a threat to the Scottish game,
But the dominance faded for the team in blue,
As the Irish team of Celtic won by a score of 5-2
The birth of Celtic, was Brother Walfrid’s dream,
As history has favoured the bhoys in green,
From the legacy of Jock Stein, to the resurgence of Martin O’Neill,
The passion & commitment can be found on Celtic’s football field.
July'22nd 2003
poem by Daniel McDonagh
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Wednesday's Child (Sheffield Wednesday Soccer Club)
It eats soccer. It breathes soccer. It lives soccer. It fades when it's team fades and it blooms when it's team blooms. It has the letters S.W. permanently etched upon it's brain and it probably even arranges it's Monopoly money in S.W. formations. What is it, you ask? It's a soccer fan. You knew that, didn't you? But it isn't just any soccer fan. It is specifically a Sheffield Wednesday soccer fan. Or addict, for want of a better word.
Yes, of course, even I know about Liverpool, Everton, Arsenal and Man. United fans. They're the normal, run-of-the-mill type but Owls supporters are really Something Else!
I have had the somewhat dubious good fortune of becoming rather well acquainted with one of these strange 'animals' but until today, I'd managed to evade any one-to-one discourse on the merits or demerits of one man's passion for his team. On the face of it, you could say I asked for it. In a weak moment, I queried how his team had fared over the past week or so. It was like asking a hypochondriac the state of his health.
Well, there I was, supposedly having a cup of tea with his wife, my friend Sheila. But Sheila knew the signs and, together with two equally clued-up daughters, had opportunely beaten a hasty retreat into the garden. They had long since paid their dues. Now, it was my turn.
It was a reasonably tentative beginning. It is more than probable that Ken, the addict, suspected I would never stay the course but feeling somewhat emotionally trapped by the knowledge that he had no sons with whom to share his enthrallment of the game, what else could I do but don my interested-looking mask, take a deep breath and settle back to hear him out. By tacit consent, we both knew that I was a victim of sorts. Destiny rides again!
My heart sunk a little when I realised that he was starting from scratch. From the actual day when his team first started playing. His enthusiasm was boundless but somehow I found myself becoming absorbed in what he was saying. His eyes took on a bright, azure sparkle and his mouth was motoring at twice the speed of sound as it travelled back and forth in time. I stared in mute fascination. This was for real! This was the guy's life. Dear Lord, where was I when enthusiasm for anything was dished out? I raised my eyes Heavenwards and found myself looking straight into those of a grey, woolly owl who was peering down at me from a built-in show-case. The Sheffield Wednesday Football Club mascot. I knew I was a gonner when I found myself asking how the Club had come to be so named.
Sheffield Wednesday, as we know it today, Ken told me, came into being in 1867 as the football section of the Wednesday Cricket Club, which had been in existence since 1820. The cricket club had been the creation of a group of Sheffield craftsmen who gave it the name 'Wednesday' for the simple reason that that was the day when they took regular afternoons off to pursue their sporting enthusiasms.
Not surprisingly, perhaps, the meeting at which the football section was formed took place on a Wednesday and this, at a local sporting pub, The Adelphi. Members of the cricket club called the meeting because they wanted a way of keeping everybody together during the winter months but the step was probably partly inspired by the dramatic increase in football's popularity in the town over the previous ten years.
Ken's eyes misted over somewhat as he proudly told me that it had been Sheffield who had led the way in organised football even before the birth of the national FA in 1863. So Wednesday no doubt felt it appropriate to have their own football section. At the very least, it would mean that their players would not be tempted to drift off to other clubs at the end of the summer and forget to return in the following spring.
The founders could not have imagined that the infant football section would become the dominant partner. So strong, in fact, that within sixteen years it would break free and Wednesday Football Club would become one of the most famous names in English football - and a force in the professional game to boot (no pun intended!) Would they also have believed that the Cricket Club would survive only until 1924 and then die through lack of support, so that today, it is all but forgotten.
By now, there was no doubt that Ken knew he had my attention for I was leaning forward in my chair, hanging onto every word. Vortex-like, my concentration was being pulled and drawn into the centre of what could only be described as the secret world of the soccer-addict; a passionate and breathtaking intensity which would encompass anything related thereto, from a humble soccer boot to a moth-eaten ticket to some long-ago and memorable match played.
'Look! ' he said, paging through a well-thumbed book, 'here's a picture of Wednesday's first match at Olive Grove. This site was bought from the Duke of Norfolk. Did you know that? ' As if I would! But no reply was necessary as he pressed on regardless to tell me about how officials at the time were unable to persuade either Preston or Aston Villa to provide the opposition for a match but Blackburn Rovers did decide to accept the invitation to play. Things weren't going too well but I wanted to fall off my chair to show him how thrilled I was too when Wednesday recovered from a three-goal deficit to draw 4-4 but he wouldn't have noticed. He was in another world.
And then he was down in the depths again as he showed me pictures of headlines proclaiming how Dooley had broken his leg at Deepdale way back in 1953. It was to be the end of the big centre-forward's career. Oh, shame, Ken, I said. And I really meant it.
1954-55 proved to be a disastrous season with Wednesday finishing bottom of the table, nine points below relegation companions Leicester City. The Owls won only 8 games, losing 24 and conceding 100 goals. However, Ken assured me, they won the Second Division Championship in 1955-56 with three points to spare and in the following season they finished mid-table. But, oh dear, by 1957-58 they were down again. The Addict's voice faded and I thought he had been called by the angels.
'And then....? ' I encouraged. Momentarily, he seemed to surface.
'Go on, get along with you, ' he said with a half-smile, 'you're not really interested.'
'Oh, I am, I am, ' I protested gamely, whereupon he went on to tell me all about the so-called bribes scandal or betting-coup revelations which broke in the Sunday newspapers of 1964. Not only did Wednesday suffer in terms of its reputation but it also lost two of its best players.
The situation sounded sufficiently grave for me to try my mournful-look but no, it wasn't necessary as The Addict changed course and went on to tell me the good news about how in 1971, that bloke Dooley, (who'd broken his leg 18 years or so earlier and subsequently had to have it amputated) had been made manager of the club. He was still an idol in the city and the folk-hero of Hillsborough. But his magic was limited and he proved that he was as human as anyone else in his lack of anticipated performance.
But Sheila was rattling crockery in the kitchen and the thought of a nice cup of tea was becoming more and more enticing. Escape was out of the question. We still had about twenty years more to work through! There's a limit to a body's endurance and a feminine mind's appreciation of a predominantly masculine interest.
So, a little less stoically now, I went 'up' with the Owls and 'down' with the Owls as we travelled through from one Division to another over a timespan of many years. But much of their pain was to dissolve in relief when in 1985, they reached their highest position for 25 years by coming fifth in the FA Cup semi-Final. Even if they did lose to Everton.
In that same year, Wednesday were to equalise in the dying seconds of the match with Chelsea. They were 3-O up at half-time and I can well imagine how Ken had nearly fallen off his chair when hearing on the BBC World Service later that evening that the game had ended at 4-4. He still hasn't got over the sheer horror of it all.
There was no stopping him now and I just had to give in and hear about how the next time round, Chelsea lost the toss with the Owls' Chairman tossing the coin and the replay going to Stamford Bridge. Wednesday lost 2-1 proving that the Chelsea bogey had struck again. 'We can't even beat a bunch of pensioners, ' the Addict grinned. I was impressed by his ability not to take himself and his beloved team too seriously.
'And last year, you actually visited the Club, didn't you? ' I asked, determined to hastily gobble up the few remaining years so that I could go and have my tea. I knew of course that the highlight of his addicthood had been when Wednesday were promoted to First Division by beating Man. United in the Rumbelows League Cup Final at Wembley and didn't want to go into all that lot again. Like I said, there's a limit........
'Ah yes, ' he replied dreamily. Even he was beginning to tire. But no, not yet. I had a feeling we were about to move into extra time. More like injury-time, one would say.
'Come, ' he said, leading me towards a cupboard filled with everything and anything that could have any association whatsoever with his team. I'd seen it all before and I would see it again, but there's an indisputable thrill of sharing both old-time and current mementoes and memorabilia of a soccer club, some six thousand miles away, right here in the living room of one of its most ardent supporters.
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poem by Margaret Kollmer
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poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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The Sport I Love
Like any other sports
this is the one I choose,
I love, and I have been playing.
the sport I want to be belong.
That is soccer.! ! !
Playing this game
have been giving me an event
that is hard to forget.
It is exciting right! ! !
And therefore
I do not know how
could I leave this sport.
Of which is this sport
help me to build my stamina,
meet a lot of friends, and
also this sport taught me
how to act as a human being,
in order to have a discipline
not only in this sport
but also in the community
as well as in a situation.
It help a lot in me right! ? ,
therefore i must not have to forget
as well as to leave this sport
but to love this sport forever..
I love soccer.! .
poem by Patrick Pinote
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Soccer world cup 2010
Soccer is the word on many lips
soccer world cup 2010
Joyous is the mood all
over the land
A first for a our small nation
flags to be hosted proudly
all over the land
White and black soccer balls
will be played over many fields
Some teams will win
some teams will loose
some teams will cry
some teams will be happy
Praise God Almighty
for this special occasion
a first for our small nation
in Jesus Name
poem by Allen Brodell
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You're Gone!
The soccer finals were happening
and we all gathered to see
the final two teams battle it out
they arrived all filled with glee
The Ref however was related to the others
so his daughter’s team just shone
He informed our kids
'You don’t stand a chance! '
'I can tell you now” You’re Gone! '
That shook their confidence
when they saw that the others were
five giants who fought like dogs
with threats and hits not allowed
they had arms like giant logs
twice the size of our gentle team
really vicious and out for war
really big thugs that always fought mean
and a ref on their side that’s for sure
The Ref allowed the vicious attacks
and the hits and the kicks of his team
but deliberately missed three of our goals
and shattered our children’s dream
Needless to say one little girl
still managed to score 2 goals
her other 3 were not punched in
so they lost to the giants holds.
It broke my heart to see the way
those children were treated that day
and to the ref and those bullies who didn’t play fair
I only have this to say.
Sport is meant for playing
Showing spirit and having fun
not for bullying threatening and kicking
no-one cares who won.
If you play it fair you feel success
the thing for which you long
but until you learn
the meaning of 'sport'
you've lost you've failed’ YOU'RE GONE’
poem by Janice M Pickett
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Which is the strongest?
Team A beat team B,
Team B beat team C
And team C, team A
None is the strongest.
Time is the strongest
12.02.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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I'm On The Football Team
Coach says I'm real good...Best kid in the neighbourhood.
Looks like I've got a future ahead of me.
Starting quarterback, number 13. Mom and Dad are so proud of me.
I'm down with the cool kids, oh yeah.
They know I'm cool, the chicks dig me, and it's okay.
I get replaced, but it's alright, 'cause they all know...I'm on the football team.
Na Na Na Na Na, Na Na Na Na Na, Na Na Na Na Na
I'm on the football team. (x2)
I'm getting chicks left and right. They're lined up for Saturday night.
Just to go down on me, oh yeah.
And when I walk down the hall, all of the nerds and geeks fall,
down on their knees and worship me.
They know I'm cool, the chicks dig me, and it's okay.
I get replaced, but it's alright, 'cause they all know...I'm on the football team.
Na Na Na Na Na, Na Na Na Na Na, Na Na Na Na Na
I'm on the football team. (x4)
Hey dad guess what!
What's that son?
I'm on the football team.
Well jimminy in the buckhole.
Na Na Na Na Na, Na Na Na Na Na, Na Na Na Na Na
I'm on the football team. (x4)
song performed by All American Rejects
Added by Lucian Velea
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Big Mal
This saturday his team were defeated and after the game in the pub
Big Mal was not in the mood for talking or singing the anthem of his club
Beaten by a point in a thriller but he does not take pride in an honourable defeat
To him victory only matter and winning to him always sweet.
Big Mal he has never played football though football plays a huge part in his life
The football team he supports to him as important as his young son or his beautiful wife
When his team as he calls them win he feels happy but losses he finds hard to take
But after each win he feels happy what a difference a victory can make.
Big Mal is a likeable fellow and so much about him to like
He does not drive his car when he's drinking he cycles to and from the pub on his pushbike
He says I need my driver's licence for work and at the weekend to watch my team play
My wife and son and my football team to me most important he say.
This saturday his team were the losers and Big Mal not happy at all
He feels sad on such an occasion and he never talks of football
But he has next weekend to look forward to and next saturday and sunday night
A win in the pub he may be celebrating and laughing aloud in delight.
poem by Francis Duggan
Added by Poetry Lover
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Venus and Adonis
Even as the sun with purple-colour'd face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheek'd Adonis tried him to the chase;
Hunting he lov'd, but love he laugh'd to scorn;
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-fac'd suitor 'gins to woo him.
'Thrice fairer than myself,' thus she began,
'The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,
More white and red than doves or roses are;
Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.
'Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;
If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed
A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know:
Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses;
And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses:
'And yet not cloy thy lips with loath'd satiety,
But rather famish them amid their plenty,
Making them red and pale with fresh variety;
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty:
A summer's day will seem an hour but short,
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.'
With this she seizeth on his sweating palm,
The precedent of pith and livelihood,
And, trembling in her passion, calls it balm,
Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good:
Being so enrag'd, desire doth lend her force
Courageously to pluck him from his horse.
Over one arm the lusty courser's rein
Under her other was the tender boy,
Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain,
With leaden appetite, unapt to toy;
She red and hot as coals of glowing fire
He red for shame, but frosty in desire.
The studded bridle on a ragged bough
Nimbly she fastens;--O! how quick is love:--
The steed is stalled up, and even now
To tie the rider she begins to prove:
Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust,
And govern'd him in strength, though not in lust.
So soon was she along, as he was down,
Each leaning on their elbows and their hips:
Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown,
And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips;
And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken,
'If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.'
He burns with bashful shame; she with her tears
Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks;
[...] Read more
poem by William Shakespeare (1593)
Added by Dan Costinaş
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Venus and Adonis
'Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo
Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua.'
To the right honorable Henry Wriothesly, Earl of Southampton, and Baron of Tichfield.
Right honorable.
I know not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolished lines to your lordship, nor how the world will censure me for choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a burden only, if your honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle hours, till I have honoured you with some graver labour. But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I shall be sorry it had so noble a god-father, and never after ear so barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it to your honourable survey, and your honour to your heart's content; which I wish may always answer your own wish and the world's hopeful expectation.
Your honour's in all duty.
Even as the sun with purple-colour'd face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase;
Hunting he loved, but love he laugh'd to scorn;
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-faced suitor 'gins to woo him.
'Thrice-fairer than myself,' thus she began,
'The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,
More white and red than doves or roses are;
Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.
'Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;
If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed
A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know:
Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses,
And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses;
'And yet not cloy thy lips with loathed satiety,
But rather famish them amid their plenty,
Making them red and pale with fresh variety,
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty:
A summer's day will seem an hour but short,
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.'
With this she seizeth on his sweating palm,
The precedent of pith and livelihood,
And trembling in her passion, calls it balm,
Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good:
Being so enraged, desire doth lend her force
Courageously to pluck him from his horse.
Over one arm the lusty courser's rein,
Under her other was the tender boy,
Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain,
With leaden appetite, unapt to toy;
She red and hot as coals of glowing fire,
He red for shame, but frosty in desire.
The studded bridle on a ragged bough
Nimbly she fastens:--O, how quick is love!--
The steed is stalled up, and even now
To tie the rider she begins to prove:
[...] Read more
poem by William Shakespeare
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Cherry Bomb
Well I lived on the outskirts of town
In an eight room farmhouse, baby
When my brothers and friends were around
There was always somethin doin
had me a couple of real nice girlfriends
Stopped by to see me every once in a while
When I think back about those days
All I can do is sit and smile
Chorus:
Thats when sport was a sport
And groovin was groovin
and dancin meant everything
We were young and we were improvin
laughtin laughtin with our friends
Holding hands meant somethin baby
Outside the club cherry bomb
Where our hearts were really thumpin
say yeah yeah yeah
Say yeah yeah yeah
The winter days they last forever
And the weekends went by so quick
We ridin around this little country town
We were goin nuts, girl, out in the stick
One night me with my big mouth
A couple guys had to put me in my place
When I see those guys these days
We just laugh and say
Remember when
Chorus:
Thats when sport was a sport
And groovin was groovin
and dancin meant everything
We were young and we were improvin
laughtin laughtin with our friends
Holding hands meant somethin baby
Outside the club cherry bomb
Where our hearts were really thumpin
say yeah yeah yeah
Say yeah yeah yeah
Seventeen has turned thirty-five
Im surprised that were still livin
if weve done any wrong
I hope that were forgiven
Got a few kids on my own
And some days I still dont know
What to do
I hope that theyre not laughtin too
Loud, when they hear me talkin like this to you
Chorus:
Thats when sport was a sport
[...] Read more
song performed by John Mellencamp
Added by Lucian Velea
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