#93: Don't Bemoan The Ol' Strike Zone (Sports)

You Might Find A Nugget
Of Heaviness, And Lug It
To Your Own Safe And Snug It
Where Nothing Can Abort
Its Value Nor Its Drug Hit . . .
You Can Kiss Or Slug It . . .
But You Won't Bind Or Bug It
Like The Gain From Sport.
Or:
Fame Is Lame, The Lesson's The Game

The whirring of whatever we'd called
an "engine" up to now,
carried us through a stuff barrage,
much crazier, somehow.

Boards and balls, and sticks and clubs
slapped the windshield hard.
Now and again we thought we saw
some kind of scoring card.

It seemed we saw some symbol of
every game we'd had
the pleasure playing . . . and then we stopped
on a chess-board painted pad.

"Okay, I get it," I said to Jo,
"we'll cut this visit short.
It's something about our winning games . . .
or playing the good sport."

The door popped up. We disembarked,
and gazed down from our hill
at sporting fields of every type . . .
yep . . . athletics-ville!

A bulletin board stood up beside
a cooler full of beer.
"Mind the rules throughout this land,
all ye, who would play here."

The sky was bright, like normal Earth,
a perfect day for golf.
We decided we'd go check it out.
Jo-Mima led us off.

Right off the bat, we walked up to
your average tennis court . . .
the balls and racquets, idled without
players of any sort.

And another board of bulletins
stood there by itself.
I walked on over and started to read.
Jo rang a timer's bell.

"Surviving mandates nourishment, and
the gathering of food . . .
and demands the knowledge of the tools
required to extrude.

Points will go to winners, while
the winners must survive.
But the match is only granted to
a player who's alive."

"What the hell was that you read?"
Jo had cocked an ear.
"Were those supposed to be the rules
for tennis playing here?

Damn, they need to lighten up.
Life's already gone
too serious for damn tennis games
to bloody up the lawn."

Well, I agreed with Jo, and we
moved on a hundred feet . . .
to another marked-off field where we
could read how they compete.

It was very big, with markings of
your average stadium,
sectioned off in ten yard strips,
with goal posts at each end.

"It's football or it's soccer,"
I mumbled, walking toward
another set of printed rules
on another wooden board.

I read out loud so Jo could hear
more words that made no sense…
at least for someone trying to win
the Southeast conference.

"Winning isn't everything,
at least, not all the time.
Playing a part upon the team
is how to toe the line."

Jo-Mima looked at me as if
he thought I played a joke.
"That's what it said," I affirmed.
We walked on down the slope.

As we approached the diamond, Jo
was studying the rules.
He shook his head as we got close . . .
"They must think that we're fools?"

The words were clear, in Day-Glo paint,
in front of where Jo stood . . .
"Learn to sacrifice your life,
if for the greater good."

About that time, I started to think
of all that we'd just read.
I reflected on the messages,
and turned to Jo and said,

"These rules aren't for these games at all.
These rules apply to life.
They have no more to do with sports
than I am Barney Fife."

We looked out on an endless scape
of sporting court and field . . .
and realized that each of them,
had further rules to yield.

"By golly, Jo, just check it out!
What incredible luck!!
The total list of living's rules
is here for us to pluck.

It'll take awhile, but once we've walked
to all these playing grounds,
we can take our good ol' time
gettin' each secret down."

And then the air was shattered by
a strident, buzzer's scream,
followed by a thunderous call,
"Game! You lose again!"

"Wait," I said, assuming the Voice
might let me have my say,
"this is way too great-a find
for playing keep-away."

The Voice responded as our scene
resolved back into hill.
"This State is not a shortcut for
a life to be fulfilled.

The only reason you can leave
is for your coming close
to understanding things you take
away from sports the most.

So, every culture has its sports,
and all sports have their rules,
but playing them, far more than words,
can make them teaching tools.

Sports and games, as you both know,
in spite of how your minds
often leave you so confused
you can't tell your behinds . . .

have a way of giving folks
some lessons greater than
rewards that come from scoring, or
the winning of them can.

And though someone could sit you down,
and browbeat you with sense
on how to do your best, or how
to live without pretense . . .

you learn those lessons better from
the part you have to play
in competition on a team,
or in your own relay.

Your Carriage is awaiting you
because you know this State
is all about that fact that sports
hold lessons that are great.

Yes, it's true, this State holds more
for you to learn at length . . .
but I know what's ahead for,
and you will need your strength."