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Most players in this league say they want consistency.

quote by Isaiah Thomas
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Soccer Rollback

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[...] Read more

poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Poison Ivy League

(words & music by giant - baum - kaye)
Hail to thee old ivy league
Poison ivy league
The ra-ra boys are sitting round the table tonight
The ra-ra boys have lots of plans in view
Theyre gonna have panty raids
And make their own lemonade
Theyll live it up just like the big boys do
Poison ivy league, boys in that ivy league
Give me an itch, those sons of the rich
That poison ivy league
The ra-ra boys will go to bed so early tonight
Before exams they need a lot of rest
They gotta make good for dad
They gotta make good so bad
Theyll even pay someone to take that test
Poison ivy league, boys in that ivy league
How can they flunk, theyre so full of bunk
That poison ivy league
The ra-ra boys are being groomed for business some day
For better things to college they were sent
And you can bet theyll be the head of the company
As long as dear old daddys president
Poison ivy league, boys in that ivy league
So loaded with cash, they give me a rash
That poison ivy league
So let it be told
I wont touch them with a ten foot pole
That poison ivy league

song performed by Elvis Presley
Added by Lucian Velea
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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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Saga Of Dandy, The Devil & Day

[kool keith]
Why don't y'all play that pitch
The right manage gonna be in the game
[moe love]
It's the top of the ninth
Josh gibson is at the plate
The bases are loaded, it's a three and two count
And here's the pitch
[kool keith]
Steppin up to the plate, first batter
[moe love]
Kool keith
[kool keith]
Black baseball, it was a known fact jack
With the weather so hot, who could play like danny day
The greatest and the best, like the satchel brother paige
Long tom and little bomb, in the hall of fame
Like josh and bunt, be alert, duck
Everybody was down for beer and peanuts
Foxes in their sunday's best, their brightest dress
[moe love]
And on deck, ced g
[ced g]
Now baseball today troop, is mostly not racial
But back in the days it was all segregated
The whites had the majors and then the blacks had the negro leagues
They both had great talent but then us blacks have no history
Of all our great players, the teams in the ballpark
But we're here to shed light, restore the glory they haven't got
Black baseball, they paved the way
With players like dandy, the devil, and day
(repeat 3x)
Black baseball
[moe love]
Bring er home
[ced g]
Now the ballparks they played in was very far from a stadium
They only sat hundreds troops as opposed to the thousands
But the stands they was packed, for the league that was fat
With teams like the baccarats and the homestead grays
The eagles and many more, came ready to play
In cities like birmingham, newark and chi-town
The bus trips were very long, paychecks would bring a frown
But not to these players, cause they really loved baseball
You could ban them from majors, but not from the game
With players like leon day, who pitched almost every day
His arm would hold up, blowin hitters with smoke away
And then there was bullet joe, also was smokey joe
King richard and savateen, and brothers like ed pole
Next, batter up!

[...] Read more

song performed by Ultramagnetic Mc's
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Soccer Under 20

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poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Soccer–Passion Song

Soccer–Passion Song

Soccer in the evening;
Soccer in the morning;
Soccer in spring and fall.

Soccer in the raining;
Soccer in the snowing;
Soccer in winter and summer.

Soccer in between my feet,
where I walk;
Soccer in my heart and mind,
how I live;
Soccer my love and life.

Soccer I wake up and play;
Soccer I hold it to sleep;
Soccer my work and rest.

Soccer I sing a new song;
Soccer I dance the magic steps;
Soccer my tears and joy.

Soccer my Mom buys it for me to play;
Soccer my Dad brings me to the game;
Soccer my dear Love watches me to score.

Soccer I dribble and shoot;
Soccer I pass and fall;
Soccer my glory and downfall.

Soccer I strike to attack;
Soccer I tackle to defend;
Soccer my struggle and survival.

Soccer I receive the flags and the whistles;
Soccer I get the yellow and red card;
Soccer my moves and stop.

Soccer I meet my friends;
Soccer I make my enemies;
Soccer my conflict and peace.

Soccer I play and watch;
Soccer I watch but cannot play;
Soccer my dream and reality.

Soccer I learn the rights;
Soccer I confess the fouls;

[...] Read more

poem by Laijon Liu
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LPGA (Is Racism On The Ladies Pro Tour?)

Will someone please say it’s a rumor and not true,
That professional woman’s golf is not going to,
Require that players who play in any LPGA events,
Have to speak English or back home they are sent.

Wow! Why not take the lead of the PGA men’s side?
When Tiger Woods emerged did others run and hide?
No! They practiced, worked out and hired coaches,
As brighter lights shined some women hid like roaches.

2009 from September 7, is just over 100 days away,
It takes years to learn English unless sports you play,
Basketball, football, baseball are a few that come to mind,
The Ladies Profession Golf Association is ahead, not behind.

Many ex-players are making the adjustment to play by play,
Far from the days when, “you know” was all they could say,
But, this progress has taken decades and now you expect,
Better golfers to learn proficient English just to get a check?

What’s happened to competition, head to head with the best?
Do we have to wait for another Olympics to put skill to the test?
I though only in politics via the cold war did this stuff exist,
Now the “sport” of women’s golf is going be added to the list.

Sports is an activity governed by a set of competitive rules,
Not to be goverend by where you did or did not go to school,
Going from one country to another you don’t need a visa to play,
Just a passport, there is no test as to what you can or cannot say.

True, not every country like our United States has free speech,
However, you need not be fluent in the local just to compete,
Playing against the world’s best is what makes golf so sweet,
Not sending them home because you’re tired of getting beat.

I know this is not all the players only a handful of spoiled quitters,
Sometimes is seems as though a few caddies are also baby sitters,
The one and only way to be the best is to beat the ones that are,
Who wants to watch a match with winners barely breaking par?

This a demeaning, stupid, selfish, insensitive, bitter, jealous rule,
You become a better golfer by going to UCLA instead of Q school?
I certainly hope this insensitiveness doesn’t too last long or go very far,
Will parking a Taurus next to a S600 Benz make the Ford a better car?

Didn’t the word golf mean, “Gentlemen Only Ladies Forbidden? ”
Now it’s the ladies who are trying to keep the best players hidden?
OK, hide your mama, jewelry, money, Picasso, Rembrandt or Monet,
But don’t hide the best foreign players by not allowing them to play.

[...] Read more

poem by Luke Easter
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With Scindia To Delhi

More than a hundred years ago, in a great battle fought near Delhi,
an Indian Prince rode fifty miles after the day was lost
with a beggar-girl, who had loved him and followed him in all his camps,
on his saddle-bow. He lost the girl when almost within sight of safety.
A Maratta trooper tells the story: --


The wreath of banquet overnight lay withered on the neck,
Our hands and scarfs were saffron-dyed for signal of despair,
When we went forth to Paniput to battle with the ~Mlech~, --
Ere we came back from Paniput and left a kingdom there.

Thrice thirty thousand men were we to force the Jumna fords --
The hawk-winged horse of Damajee, mailed squadrons of the Bhao,
Stark levies of the southern hills, the Deccan's sharpest swords,
And he the harlot's traitor son the goatherd Mulhar Rao!

Thrice thirty thousand men were we before the mists had cleared,
The low white mists of morning heard the war-conch scream and bray;
We called upon Bhowani and we gripped them by the beard,
We rolled upon them like a flood and washed their ranks away.

The children of the hills of Khost before our lances ran,
We drove the black Rohillas back as cattle to the pen;
'Twas then we needed Mulhar Rao to end what we began,
A thousand men had saved the charge; he fled the field with ten!

There was no room to clear a sword -- no power to strike a blow,
For foot to foot, ay, breast to breast, the battle held us fast --
Save where the naked hill-men ran, and stabbing from below
Brought down the horse and rider and we trampled them and passed.

To left the roar of musketry rang like a falling flood --
To right the sunshine rippled red from redder lance and blade --
Above the dark ~Upsaras~* flew, beneath us plashed the blood,
And, bellying black against the dust, the Bhagwa Jhanda swayed.

* The Choosers of the Slain.

I saw it fall in smoke and fire, the banner of the Bhao;
I heard a voice across the press of one who called in vain: --
"Ho! Anand Rao Nimbalkhur, ride! Get aid of Mulhar Rao!
Go shame his squadrons into fight -- the Bhao -- the Bhao is slain!"

Thereat, as when a sand-bar breaks in clotted spume and spray --
When rain of later autumn sweeps the Jumna water-head,
Before their charge from flank to flank our riven ranks gave way;
But of the waters of that flood the Jumna fords ran red.

I held by Scindia, my lord, as close as man might hold;

[...] Read more

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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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 one game we all play

The one game we all play

We play games
To show our valour
And mainly to win

We do not mind going for coaching
If we feel we do not have the
Required strength to win

We play games
Either as a team or individual
The attempt is to demonstrate
That we are better talented
Than the team or member
Against whom we play

Nations enthuse people to play games
So that they add pride

Some games are played with
Gadgets and protective accessories

We have spectators to watch
The way we play
We have umpires and referees
Who ensure rules of the games
Are strictly adhered
And it is all a fair play

We play games indoor or outdoor
We play games in daylight
Or under artificial illumination

We score while playing
And the score achieved by a team or individual
In a specific time
Decides the winner

We telecast the games
We comment on the strengths and weaknesses
Of a team or individual

We conduct national and international
Tournaments to declare a team or individual
As champion

Irrespective of skills, race, gender
We all play a game
Which is played mainly to lose

[...] Read more

poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Irony And Unthinkability

Just like football helmets that create
illusions of invulnerability
irony can’t truly mitigate
the trauma of unthinkability.

Lacking helmets football would not be
the game it is, but they do not protect
the wearer any more than irony
protects politically the incorrect.

The trauma that’s inflicted when a skull
is fractured is no less than the concussion
that’s suffered by those people who are dull,
but miss the irony of a discussion.

Inspired by an article in the WSJ on November 11,2009 (Is It Time to Retire the Football Helmet? New Research Says Small Hits Do Major Damage—and There's Not Much Headgear Can Do About It, by Reed Albergotti and Shirley S. Wang) :

This football season, the debate about head injuries has reached a critical mass. Startling research has been unveiled. Maudlin headlines have been written. Congress called a hearing on the subject last month. As obvious as the problem may seem (wait, you mean football is dangerous?) , continuing revelations about the troubling mental declines of some retired players—and the ongoing parade of concussions during games—have created a sense of inevitability. Pretty soon, something will have to be done. But before the debate goes any further, there's a fundamental question that needs to be investigated. Why do football players wear helmets in the first place? And more important, could the helmets be part of the problem? 'Some people have advocated for years to take the helmet off, take the face mask off. That'll change the game dramatically, ' says Fred Mueller, a University of North Carolina professor who studies head injuries. 'Maybe that's better than brain damage.'
The first hard-shell helmets, which became popular in the 1940s, weren't designed to prevent concussions but to prevent players in that rough-and-tumble era from suffering catastrophic injuries like fractured skulls. But while these helmets reduced the chances of death on the field, they also created a sense of invulnerability that encouraged players to collide more forcefully and more often. 'Almost every single play, you're going to get hit in the head, ' says Miami Dolphins offensive tackle Jake Long. What nobody knew at the time is that these small collisions may be just as damaging. The growing body of research on former football players suggests that brain damage isn't necessarily the result of any one trauma, but the accumulation of thousands of seemingly innocuous blows to the head…
Nonetheless, the strongest argument for the helmet may turn out to be an economic one. The NFL is shaped around the notion that players can run into each other at high speeds without consequence. It's the same sort of idea that has made Nascar the nation's most popular form of motorsport. And beyond all this, there's the very real question of whether the prospect of serious mental impairment later in life will ever discourage people from playing the game—let alone watching. 'Without the helmet, they wouldn't hit their head in stupid plays, ' says P. David Halstead, technical director for the Nocsae, the group that sets helmet-safety standards. But without helmets, the game 'wouldn't be football, ' he says.

11/11/09

poem by Gershon Hepner
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Player's Ball

Here's a little somethin for the players out there hustlin
Gettin down for theirs
From east pointe, college park, decatur, devries...
My man, the scene was so thick
Lowriders, seventy-seven sevilles
El do's, nuttin but them 'llacs
All the players (deporte in the house) all the hustlers
I'm talkin bout a black man heaven here
Youknowhati'msayin? yeah
*singing*
Cadillacs are comin, from everywhere (yeahhh)
Limbo boppin good cause love is in the air
To all you players and you pimps smoke out and have a ball
And if your hoe is actin crazy --
-- put her on the wall
Now now now everybody's dancin and just feelin right
I see all of you players got yourselves laid in on ice
I hope when all y'all dance is over, can i get onn, yeah
My kids'll have a story, that still be told, whoooa, about
All the players came, from far and wide
Wearin afros and braids, kickin them gangster rides
Now i'm here to tell ya, there's a better day
When the player ball is happenin, all day eryday

song performed by Outkast
Added by Lucian Velea
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Football Farce

Football managers and players should hang their heads in shame,
For what they've done to our traditional football game.
Now sportsmen in the game are a dying breed,
with managers and players getting rich with greed.
Sportsmen! They are not, for they will cheat and connive,
winning free kicks and penalties by taking a dive.
Pushing, pulling and shirts being torn,
Punching and swearing are now the norm.
After a night on drugs and all night boozing,
players get violent if their team is loosing.
The managers aren't any better when staring at defeat,
encouraging players to go out there and cheat.
If the players do wrong and it's plain to see,
the managers will argue and blame the referee.
And now referees are getting in on this shameful act,
with the top premier clubs they've now formed a pact.
If the top club is loosing, then with the last kick of the ball,
the referee gives them a penalty for no good reason at all.
If that doesn't help they commit another dreadful crime,
by giving them another chance by adding on extra time.
The F.A. watches these games and don't seem to mind,
What's up with them? are they totally blind?
The F.A. should now hang their heads in shame,
for they have let money and greed ruin our football game.
That's why I have finally decided to call it a day,
Football ain't getting anymore of my hard earnt pay.

By
Alan Weston

© Copyright Reserved 2007

poem by Alan Weston
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Now You're Here (Rock Ballad) :

Now you're here, we're ready to play.
Ready to play for you..
And now you're here, we're ready to sing.
Ready to sing for you..

We are the players, the singers.
We play for your town.
We keep you rockin', a rollin', a movin' around.
We get you movin', a groovin'..Yaahh! feelin' real fine.
We get you screamin', a shoutin'..
We get your hands in the air..

We are the players, the singers.
We play for your town.
We keep you rockin', a rollin', a movin' around.
We are the players, the singers.
And we bring on the sound..

So now you're here, we're ready to play.
Ready to play for you.
And now you're here, we're ready to sing.
Ready to sing for you..

We are the players, the singers.
We play for your town.
We keep you rockin', a rollin', a movin' around.
We get you swingin', a swayin', so join in the crowd.
We get you spinnin', a grinnin', a turnin' around.
We are the players, the singers.
And we play for your town.

So now you've stayed, you've listened to us.
We're so glad we played for you.
And now you've stayed, you've listened to us.
We're so glad we sang this tune..

We're so glad we sang this tune..

Rock-Ballad-By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1987,2009..
ALL rights reserved..

poem by Kim Robin Edwards
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No Choice

right, wrong,
neat, or dirty
whatever that be
he goes for consistency
loved or unloved
hate, indifference,
reunion, departures
hellos
he goes for consistency
stay put and travel
silence noise
chaos pandemonium
he goes for consistency

moving on always moving on
with the earth in circles
revolving upon an orbit
always moving on and moving on

what choice does he have?
if he stays, he is left out
if he moves on, the horizon is edgeless

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Im The Face

Im the face baby, is that clear,
Im the face baby, is that clear,
Im the face baby, is that clear,
Im the face baby, is that clear,
Im the face if you want it,
Im the face if you want it,
Im the face if you want it, dear,
Im the face if you want it, dear,
All the others are third class tickets by me, baby, is that clear.
All the others are third class tickets by me, baby, is that clear.
Im the big wheel baby, wont you roll with me,
Im the big wheel baby, wont you roll with me,
Im the big wheel baby, wont you roll with me,
Im the big wheel baby, wont you roll with me,
So many cats down the scene, honey,
So many cats down the scene, honey,
? ? ? ? ? hardly see.
? ? ? ? ? hardly see.
Wear ivy league jackets, white buckskin shoes,
Wear ivy league jackets, white buckskin shoes,
I wear ivy league jackets, white buckskin shoes,
I wear ivy league jackets, white buckskin shoes,
So many tickets down the scene honey,
So many tickets down the scene honey,
Theyre like to blow a fuse.
Theyre like to blow a fuse.
Im the face baby, is that clear,
Im the face baby, is that clear,
Im the face baby, is that clear,
Im the face baby, is that clear,
Im the face if you want it,
Im the face if you want it,
Im the face if you want it, dear,
Im the face if you want it, dear,
All the others are third class tickets by me baby, is that clear.
All the others are third class tickets by me baby, is that clear.

song performed by Who
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Only Son

She dropped the bar, she shot the bolt, she fed the fire anew
For she heard a whimper under the sill and a great grey paw came through.
The fresh flame comforted the hut and shone on the roof-beam,
And the Only Son lay down again and dreamed that he dreamed a dream.
The last ash fell from the withered log with the click of a falling spark,
And the Only Son woke up again, and called across the dark:--
"Now was I born of womankind and laid in a mother's breast?
For I have dreamed of a shaggy hide whereon I went to rest.
And was I born of womankind and laid on a father's arm?
For I have dreamed of clashing teeth that guarded me from harm.

And was I born an Only Son and did I play alone?
For I have dreamed of comrades twain that bit me to the bone.
And did I break the barley-cake and steep it in the tyre?
For I have dreamed of a youngling kid new-riven from the byre:
For I have dreamed of a midnight sky and a midnight call to blood
And red-mouthed shadows racing by, that thrust me from my food.
'Tis an hour yet and an hour yet to the rising of the moon,
But I can see the black roof-tree as plain as it were noon.
'Tis a league and a league to the Lena Falls where the trooping blackbuck go;
But I can hear the little fawn that bleats behind the doe.

'Tis a league and a league to the Lena Falls where the crop and the upland meet,
But I Can smell the wet dawn-wind that wakes the sprouting wheat.
Unbar the door. I may not bide, but I must out and see
If those are wolves that wait outside or my own kin to me!"
. . . . .
She loosed the bar, she slid the bolt, she opened the door anon,
And a grey bitch-wolf came out of the dark and fawned on the Only Son!

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Infanticide

Hark where the bells toll, chiming, dull and steady,
The clock's slow hand hath reached the appointed time.
Well, be it so--prepare, my soul is ready,
Companions of the grave--the rest for crime!
Now take, O world! my last farewell--receiving
My parting kisses--in these tears they dwell!
Sweet are thy poisons while we taste believing,
Now we are quits--heart-poisoner, fare-thee-well!

Farewell, ye suns that once to joy invited,
Changed for the mould beneath the funeral shade;
Farewell, farewell, thou rosy time delighted,
Luring to soft desire the careless maid,
Pale gossamers of gold, farewell, sweet dreaming
Fancies--the children that an Eden bore!
Blossoms that died while dawn itself was gleaming,
Opening in happy sunlight never more.

Swanlike the robe which innocence bestowing,
Decked with the virgin favors, rosy fair,
In the gay time when many a young rose glowing,
Blushed through the loose train of the amber hair.
Woe, woe! as white the robe that decks me now--
The shroud-like robe hell's destined victim wears;
Still shall the fillet bind this burning brow--
That sable braid the Doomsman's hand prepares!

Weep ye, who never fell-for whom, unerring,
The soul's white lilies keep their virgin hue,
Ye who when thoughts so danger-sweet are stirring,
Take the stern strength that Nature gives the few!
Woe, for too human was this fond heart's feeling--
Feeling!--my sin's avenger doomed to be;
Woe--for the false man's arm around me stealing,
Stole the lulled virtue, charmed to sleep, from me.

Ah, he perhaps shall, round another sighing
(Forgot the serpents stinging at my breast),
Gayly, when I in the dumb grave am lying,
Pour the warm wish or speed the wanton jest,
Or play, perchance, with his new maiden's tresses,
Answer the kiss her lip enamored brings,
When the dread block the head he cradled presses,
And high the blood his kiss once fevered springs.

Thee, Francis, Francis, league on league, shall follow
The death-dirge of the Lucy once so dear;
From yonder steeple dismal, dull, and hollow,
Shall knell the warning horror on thy ear.
On thy fresh leman's lips when love is dawning,

[...] Read more

poem by Friedrich Schiller
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The Battle Of Lepanto Ottomans Defeats

Holy League on 7 October 1571 attacks;
wins a crushing victory over Ottoman fleet
at the Battle of Lepanto Ottomans defeats;

off tide turning western Greek coast;
decisively defeated Ottoman mighty main fleet
of Ottoman Empire in fierce five hours;

of fighting on northern edge of Gulf of Patras;
off fate western Greece Ottoman invasion forces
were from naval station Lepanto sailing westwards;

engaged from Messina Holy League fleet;
quick sand history on this victory turns
Mediterranean Sea Holy League prevents;

becoming an open uncontested sea route;
for Muslim forces; from major Ottoman invasion
Italy protects; prevents conquest Ottomans;

advancing further into exposed southern;
flank of Europe victory Lepanto was the last
major naval battle in contest Mediterranean;

fought entirely between diced empire galleys;
great symbolic importance appropriately assigned
to an empires altering decisive naval defeat;

upon signing of peace treaty in 1573 fate turns;
victorious Holy League is incredibly disbanded
axed a short time after unity Pope Pius V died.

Extract from the poem ‘Mediterranean Colonisation Wars Left Legacy Seeds'.

poem by Terence George Craddock
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After A Wedding.

After singing in the choir
at the major’s daughter’s wedding

you were all invited
to the posh reception

and you watched
the other guests

move around
the gardens and marquees

feeling rather out
of your class and league

and then she came
along side you and said

maybe one day
we can get married

like the major’s daughter
and have children

and be happy
and not have to feel

out of our class
and utterly lonely

and not have
my mother breathing

down my neck
to marry some schmuck

and you said
who knows maybe

and you smiled
and she put her arm

through yours
and you walked together

amongst the guests
and other members

of the church choir
beneath the summer sun

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poem by Terry Collett
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