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Boca Juniors '91
Pete
Sacramento, California

 
  Boca News: Cute Poem  
 

Sunday, May 7
Cute Poem
By "The Mouse"
‘Twas the night before State Cup and all through the Forum
The posters continued their lack of decorum

The bags packed and ready in County Marin
With hopes that their team will come home with a win

The dads, with great tension, in thinking of Boca
They’ll surely not need their lowfat venti mocha!

The Boca girls snuggled all safe in their beds
While visions of corner kicks danced in their heads

The girls of both teams, love being so near it
One will get the title from three-peater Spirit

But elsewhere ‘round NorCal scenes weren’t quite so pretty
Not as is in Marin or, too River City

In Walnut Creek, Stockton, Elk Grove, Mountain View
In Burlingame, Turlock: despair through and through

The Sans of Lorenzo, Francisco, Ramon
Santas Clara and Rosa: no sun for them shone

Pacifica, Livermore, Galt, Central Valley
Orinda and Lodi - so many to tally

In all of these towns, in all of these places
Were houses within which were no smiling faces

For inside of the homes (those with shin guards and cleats),
Someone huddled in bed, hiding under the sheets

A person forlorn, in despondent condition
Curled up like a lump, in a fetal position

Its tears softly flowing, an aura of sorrow:
Their team will not play in the State Cup tomorrow

The convergence of sniffles and the flurry of sobs
Sent signals up high to alert the soccer gods

Who met and decided to send from the heavens
The Fairies of Soccer to soothe teams of elevens

They set off to earth, swooping down, gliding up
With power and grace, like the CyberRays lineup

More rapid than strikers, the fairies they came
As they whistled and signaled and called out by name:

Now Northstars, now Heat now Rumble and Blue,
On Tremors, United and Breakaways, too.

Oh Thunder, Tornados, Strikers, and Storm,
All Rage and the Blaze, we’ll get you back in form!

Each fairy seemed kindly, but dressed quite so odd
With a net for a gown and with cleats she was shod

A crown made of crossbar, and knee socks so quirky
Resembling (if he were in drag), John Murphy

Each flew to the room of a poor little dear
And tried to make sadness and gloom disappear

(she said):
“You feel that you’ve missed chance for glory and fame
But don’t forget, sweetheart: it’s only a game

You gave it your best, you tried your darned hardest
You’re wonderful, darling, of you we are proudest”

The creature stopped crying, dabbed gently its eyes
And arose from the bed, to the fairy’s surprise

For under those covers, the person so sad
Was not a young girl, but an old soccer dad

The man poured out his story, with passion and pain
As he relived the matches, again and again

“The field was too bumpy, the wind wrong direction
The refs were against us – our game was perfection!

The air was too humid. The sun was too bright.
The goal box should have been three feet to the right

The coach should have sent someone to mark the sweeper
The coach should NOT have substituted the keeper

If only we’d been in an easier bracket”
The man’s voice was raised; he made quite a racket

“Our forward was NOT past the second defender
If offsides weren’t called, we would be a contender!”

The fairy, so sternly, viewed him with regard
And said “stop complaining, or you’ll get a red card!

This game’s for the kids, it’s not you it’s about”
So to rid him of darkness, she sprayed him with Zout

“If it’s too much to handle, too high a degree
I strongly suggest you consider Class III

Here’s something to cheer you” to him she enticed
With Gatorade, bagels and oranges sliced

And then from her bag, she pulled deep from within
A plate stacked with brownies (no, not from Marin)

The man continued his ranting, details in excess
The fairy said softly “this guy is hopeless”

As she left, she exclaimed with annoyance so rife:
“Happy State Cup to all
And dad: get a life”

And a respnse from Dad:
What a mean little mouse to portray Dad’s so unfairly,
We’re worse than the Mothers- but really just barely

You may sit in your lounge chairs not standing to yell,
But you love the game too babe, it’s easy to tell

You have soccer blankets, and a key chain she made,
To let her play soccer four tuitions you’ve paid!

You buy Total 90’s, sports bras, and sports drinks,
And set your umbrella just so- not to jinx

You hold them, and love them, and French braid their hair,
And ask why the coach subbed them off- so unfair!

You put on team dinners, and book the hotel,
You have the first aid kit when joints start to swell

When games get exciting (and usually they will),
You keep checked emotions, you won’t let it spill

You don’t yell at refs or say anything bad,
About coaches, or players, or even a dad!

But when State Cup is over, and DD is in bed,
The next non-soccer weekend is something you dread

Now you really can’t wait for Spring League to begin,
And you really are jealous of Boca and Marin

While you just missed the semis; Told the girls “it’s for fun”
You’re chaffed that somebody has ended your run!

For a few years from now, it will actually end
And that year to college your DD you’ll send

So call out to Dads and say they are too much,
And act like to Mothers it just isn’t such,

But years down the road, when your club decals faded,
You’ll drive by a sports field, and find you're elated

This game they grew up with- a treasure so rare,
That taught dedication, devotion, despair

It was part of your life too, I think that you know it,
But under umbrellas you just didn’t show it!


   
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