July [21] 2008


Training camp opens

my anxiety of mid-July

as football is my priest.

It calms and comforts me.

Preseason is my pretender.

It brings my wife hope for

the family when I work

to fake disinterest into August.

Scoring extra points

I now vow to take

long weekend marathons

with the kids to Sea World

(as if roster deadlines

and the crucial final cuts

have slipped my mind completely).

But come each new September

my real service I now remember,

as I can no longer pretend.

In truth, I am a religious man,

and football is my priest.

It shows me the glory of God

and the powers of forgiveness.

On Sunday morning hours of worship,

I pray that SHE will have a vision

of the rapture and redemption

with the faith of a believer

in the sprinting wide receiver,

Pray that SHE will glide and plunder

like a devil as she throws it

flat between the sacred numbers

loud and hard as Noah’s thunder,

six quick points of sweet salvation

“All rise now on this occasion–

Say it brother— “HALLELUJAH!”



A reader from America’s heartland comments: “Oh crap. This is so depressing.”  Francine S. Neudahl, Racine Wisconsin.


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