SUPER BOWL FIFTY-SIX

 

2022 was our Bengal’s year 

Our return from decades of despair 

Who would have guessed the Super Bowl? 

The thought of it, too much to bear 

The Bengals won the toss and deferred 

Stafford sacked, the Rams had to punt 

Then Burrow’s pass was deflected 

The Rams were back in the hunt 

Stafford to Beckham, the first touchdown 

Then McPherson kicked a Bengals' field goal 

But the Rams marched back down the field 

Touchdown two put them back in control 

The Bengals soon came storming back 

Joe Mixon passed for a trick play 

Tee Higgins caught the ball for a touchdown 

The Rams, 13-10, on the day 

Quarter three, Tee Higgins scored a touchdown 

Even though he grabbed Ramsey’s facemask 

Then the Bengals intercepted Stafford 

Kicker Evan McPherson, up to the task

Fourth quarter, the ball went back and forth 

The Rams finally scored on a one-yard pass 

The Bengal got the ball with one twenty-five left 

But Joe Burrow’s team ran out of gas 

The final score, twenty-three to twenty 

 It easily could have gone the other way 

But our Bengals had a fantastic season 

And we think it a truly great day

The Day I Tackled Abber Murphy

In Miss Guimond’s sixth grade class 

I was one of the goodie goodie students, 

raggedy penmanship 

but number two in spelling 

and decent at arithmetic. 

At recess on the playground though, 

a different kettle of fish. 

I was the littlest sixth grader, 

the youngest, the scrawniest. 

When picking sides for football, 

I always stood there waiting till the end. 

Come November’s first big snowfall, 

the boys turned to “Tackle”. 

A simple game, just one rule: 

one boy was named the runner,

the others’ job, to tackle him. 

Two dozen scalawags, 

hooting and hollering, 

chasing the runner from here to there. 

He who tackled the runner became the new runner, 

and the game began all over again. 

Runners zigged and zagged, 

dodged and stiff-armed, 

but the playground was only so large 

and the runner always got cornered. 

The only question was how 

long he could stay on his feet. 

The runners, nearly always the same: 

Abber, Gundy, Jimmy B, 

John John, Deeny Boy. 

Abber Murphy was the champ by far, 

the fastest toughest kid in our school, 

the fullback on the football team. 

One time we surrounded Abber at the back wall 

and he turned around and 

he looked me straight in the eye 

and I thought to myself, 

“I knew it, he’s going to kill me.” 

I crouched down, stretched out my arms,

shut my eyes, held my breath. 

Abber slammed into me head-on and, 

wonder of wonders, he lost his footing 

and we both tumbled into the snow. 

All the boys started cheering 

(at least that’s how I imagine it), 

and Abber said, “Good tackle, Bud!” 

So I was the next runner 

but I only got eight feet or so 

before somebody knocked me down. 

It didn’t matter, my heart 

was bursting with joy. 

Though I never got to be runner again, 

I’ll never forget the time 

that it was me who tackled Abber Murphy.

My Pugilistic Career

All the Antioch freshmen had to take Phys Ed 

Maybe golf or horseshoes or squash  

I picked badminton,which sounded most gentle

But my roommate picked boxing, omigosh

Al was a chemist, a nerdy guy

Short, uncoordinated, even flabby

But each time he came back from his boxing class

He raved about his fights, oh so gabby 

Winter quarter arrived and I’d had enough

I was sure I was more manly than Al

I signed up for boxing, the first class I picked

I just knew it would boost my morale 

The first class meeting came as a shock

From the whole campus, all the biggest guys 

At least six foot two, two hundred pounds

I knew I’d never win a prize 

Class sessions were brutal sparring bouts

Monstrous brutes were on the attack 

A punch to the cheek, a blow to the gut

Thud, Crash, Whomp a Domp, Nasty Smash 

There was only one guy the same size as me 

When paired up we’d both go insane 

You’d never know we were mild-mannered 

We went all out, heck with the pain

I told Al my class was a nightmare 

The weekly pummeling left me sad 

Yes, Al said, it was the same for him 

“What?” I yelled, “that is so bad.”

Months later I got drunk at a party

I told Al, “Let’s go out and fight” 

He laughed and thought I was kidding

But I meant to show him my might 

Nowadays my gym has a punching bag

My left jab is still pretty quick 

But I’ve never once used my boxing skills 

Badminton, a more practical pick

Hoops Mania

I’d barely heard of basketball 

But then at Washington Grade School 

our sixth grade class formed a team

Bobby and Dick, Tommy and Gundy,

Kenny and Jim, also Roger

My parents never noticed  

But my grandfather, my dear Swedish grandfather

insisted that I join the team

I cried, I complained

Procrastinated, sulked

Scared out of my wits 

But Grandfather forced me 

The smallest kid in the class

All the others, tougher, more confident

We played at the Presbyterian Church

I sat at the end of the bench

…as far from the coach as possible 

Praying he wouldn’t notice me

I played a few minutes in the middle of each game

I don’t recall that I ever scored

one — single — point

Or even touched the ball 

After the season was over

my grandfather put up a basketball hoop

over the garage door in our driveway 

My brother Steven was my practice partner

I was four years older, six inches taller

But Steven was as fierce as a wolverine

We played horse, twenty-one, and one-on-one

Dodging, spinning, rebounding

Shooting free throws from out near the oak tree

Dribbling the ball on the loose cinder

After many weeks

we’d make a few shots

The snowstorms arrived in late fall 

We shoveled our court and played on the ice

Shedding our coats in the freezing temp

Slipping and falling but bouncing back up

After sunset we brought out a desk lamp

Hooked it up to the extension cord

And aimed the light toward the hoop

We’d stay out till bedtime

Sweaty, exhausted

Happy, excited

In junior high our group played in the gym at lunchtime

Then I’d go to the D.A.R. Boys Club after school

Deeny-Boy was my practice partner

I dreamt I might play for the Minneapolis Lakers 

If only I could perfect my twenty-foot shot

This dream, like most others, never came true

But still I learned many lessons

How to win and lose with humility

            to move on from painful losses

That playing by the rules is important

That success takes a long time

and hard work  

I owe a big debt to my grandfather

We always need help 

to figure out how best to live our lives 

The Winter Olympics

Pyeong Chang 2018 

The Winter Games, so full of life

The skis, the skates, the bobsled track

A time to shelve the world’s strife 

The Winter Games, so full of life

Young ice dancers, man and wife 

Strive to shine and lead the pack 

The Winter Games, so full of life

The skis, the skates, the bobsled track

Lindsey Vonn

Down the slope, eighty miles an hour 

We’ve never seen such strength and power

Cutting corners, thrill upon thrill

Lindsey Vonn, the queen of downhill 

Over eighty World Cup titles

Damage to her limbs and vitals

Many a crutch, many a pill

Lindsey Vonn, the queen of downhill 

Competing now at thirty-three 

Her last Olympics, this must be 

The skier’s credo, speed and will 

Lindsey Vonn, true queen of downhill  

   On the Olympic Ice: A Diamonte

                  Speed-Skater

               Lean,  muscular

        Dodging, darting, lunging

Race, competition, music, costume

       Leaping, twirling, gliding

               Lithe, graceful  

                  Ice-Dancer

An Ode to the Green Bay Packers

The Packers of Green Bay are America’s team

They’re the only group owned by their fans

They played their first game in nineteen nineteen

Their field didn’t have any stands

They beat Menominee in that very first game

The score was fifty-three versus zero

They had guys named Biggy and Hexbert and Sam

Captain Curly Lambeau was their hero

When I was just eight Don Hutson was the star

An offensive star, he played defense too

The greatest split end in league history by far

Three NFL titles were his due

Coach Lombardi arrived in fall fifty-nine

He brought still more glory to Green Bay

They won the first Super Bowl in sixty-five

Then Super Bowl Two went their way

Brett Favre joined the Pack in ninety-two

He stepped in when Magic got hurt

Seventy thousand yards Brett eventually threw

Two Super Bowls in that Packer spurt

So that’s how it’s been for us Green Bay codgers

Our moods shift around with the Packers’ fate

Fans’ hopes for the year lie with Aaron Rodgers

We trust he’ll be nothing but great