Just Keeping Up is Completely Falling Behind

The craving, the raving

the passion; the team

The playing, the staying

after practice I scream

The running, the kicking;

I’m free and it’s mine.

The sweating, the regretting;

it’s hopeless—I’m fine.

The worry, the pressure,

the yelling I hear

to inspire, perspire, 

and admire another year.

The black, the white,

the green, the brown;

the pattern on my leg

when I dive to the ground.

The flying, the driving,

the packing; it’s great.

The prying, the trying

commitment irritates

my soul, my spirit,

I hear it; it’s near.

My eyes, they guard

the net—its clear.

Away!  Keeper!

No cross!  Push up!

I need some help,

get back, don’t give up.

Sprint! You’re first,

but you haven’t won;

it’s sloppy, it’s dirty,

it’s cheating — it’s done.

The pushing, the shoving

the ref didn’t see.

The ball was out—

yellow card, please!

My girl is down,

I help her stand.

I knock the bitch

right on her can.

I help her up,

apology fake.

The ref believes it—

it’s his mistake!

I knock her,

I block her,

I silently mock her.

I caught her shot

and well, hell,

that’s just soccer.