New Balls Please... Yes It's Another Rant...
Big sports weekend…
in a coupla hours, Wimbledon,
or to local residents, Womble-din…
someone’s gointa win; someone’s
gointa lose. That’s life
for millionaire sportspersons;
love-all. New balls please, loser…
then those post-match, post-coital,
exquisitely embarrassing how-was-it-for-you,
high-thrive or detumescent interviews…
will the dreaded HOW virus strike again?
live-mike brings on rabbit-in-the-headlights syndrome –
at the end of the day, we know
the answer – that’s what it’s all about,
all credit to the other guys…
yes, there was pressure – that’s what it’s…
it’s the questions, though, where the new
HOW virus strikes –
‘HOW pleased are you to have won? …’
‘HOW sorry are you to have lost? …’
that’s like, on a scale of nought to infinity?
No lawyer would dare to use such
a leading phrase: ‘HOW sorry, Mr Under-age X,
are you to have murdered my client…? ’
‘Objection! Objection! …’
‘Oh, I’m really sorry to have won today…
it’ll put me in the supertax bracket,
I’ll see less of the kids, with
all those personal appearances…
who’ll get the kids anyway when we divorce? …’
‘Oh I’m really glad to have lost…
gives me something to aim for, I’ll
get to see the kids more, the wife’s
quite relieved… I can still afford
the tinted windows and the limo,
then I don’t get to hear the shouts
of ‘loser! ’ when they see me…’
and anyway, the other guy
was better on the day… all credit to the lad/girl…
I’ve got better legs, I’ll get more modelling contracts
than that ugly bull-cow…’
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poem by Michael Shepherd
Added by Poetry Lover
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