Monday, March 23, 2009

Who gives a bloody damn?

Time seemed to stop
As the ball left the ground.
Would the game be a flop
After all?
The ghosts of times past –
They did not make a sound,
All eyes were glued fast
On the ball.

Oh where would it go?
It seemed ‘twas struck true.
Was time ever so slow
In its life?
It ceased to exist,
There was naught we could do.
Was this the last twist
Of the knife?

But it came to land
Short the distance required.
The Triple Crown, and
The Grand Slam!
Our jerseys were muddiest,
Our legs weak and tired.
But who gave the bloodiest

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