Between football and baseball season,
Lies the winter of my discontent,
It’s not that I hate basketball,
That isn’t what I meant.
My TV has grown cold and dim,
There’s nothing on the air,
Just a few minor sports, perhaps,
An occasional Olympic fare.
I do not know from ice-dancing.
I do not know from luge,
I have no interest in biathlons,
My depression’s growing huge.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land,
The sun is shining bright,
Somewhere ballplayers are stretching,
Preparing for the fight.
Somewhere hearts are happy,
The grass is always green,
But I sit here, sad and lonely,
With nothing on the screen.
THE POETRY OF THE GAME