Poem- Confession of a Born Spector

Confessions of a Born Spectator

One infant grows up and becomes a jockey,
Another plays basket ball or hockey,
 This is one the prize ring hates to enter That one becomes a tackle or centre,
 I am just as glad as glad can be
 That I'm not them,  that they're not me.


With all my heart do I admire
Athletes who sweat for fun or hire,
 Who take the field in gaudy pomp.
 And maim each other as they romp.
My limp and bashful spirit feeds
On other people's heroic deeds.

Now A runs ninety yards to score,
B knocks the champion to the floor
C risking vertebrae and spine,
 Lashes his steed across the line.
 You'd think my ego it would please
 To swap positions with one of these.


 Well,  ego might be pleased enough,
 But zealous athletes play so rough,
They do not ever,  in their dealings Consider one another's feelings.
 I'm glad that when my struggle begins Twixt prudence and ego,  prudence wins.


When swollen eye meets gnarled fist
When snaps the knee,  and cracks the wrist,
When calm officialdom demands
Is there a doctor in the stands
My soul in true thanksgiving speaks
For this most modest physiques.

  Athletes,  I'll drink to you
Or eat with you.
Or anything except compete with you.  Buy tickets worth their weight in radium.  To watch you gambol in a stadium
 And reassure myself anew
That you're not me and I'm not you.

Srory -1 PLAYING THE GAME

PLAYING THE GAME
- Arthur Mead
         Alan's mother came to the gate to see him off. "Goodbye,  Alan,  do your best,"  she out.
           "I'll try,  Mummy,"  answered Alan and waving his hand,  he ran out of the gate and uply road.
            Do his best Of course he would,  for Alan was playing in the school cricket match am was mightily proud of being chosen to play.  He had practised bowling with his father for we now,  and Daddy said he was shaping well.  Daddy was nearly as excited as Alan over the m and he promised that if Alan's side won,  he would buy him a bicycle.
               No wonder,  Alan was excited.
              On his way to the sports ground Alan had to pass the little three-cornered meadow and as he reached there,  he saw a very old man leaning heavily on his stick.  As Alan passed,  the l man called out to him.
         "Can I help you?"  asked Alan kindly,  going up to him.
         The old man,  in a thin,  cracked voice requested Alan to let him take his arm.  He said,  road is so hilly and the wind is almost too much for me."
    But the poor old gentleman leanded heavily on Alan's sturdy little arm and tottered along like a baby.So slowly did he walk that five minutes had gone before they were half way up the road.
       Alan explained to the old man that he was on his way to a cricket-match and that he not be late,  but he seemed not to hear him.
       "Where do you live,  sir called Alan at last in the old man's ear.
      "Up the road and some way round the corner,"  he answered in his thin,  weak voice."I shoul e so much obliged if you could see me home.  You look a very kind little boy."
      See him home And they were still a long way off If only he could walk a little fasta Why,  the teams would be already on the field,  and the captain would be wondering why he di not come.
          Suddenly the old man stumbled over a loose paving stone,  and fell heavily on the ground.
       "Don't leave me,  little boy,"  murmured the old man.
         "No,  I will stay here,"  said Alan,  and he sat down beside him,  for he felt sure that somet would come that way soon.
       Alan started anxiously dowm the road during the minutes that follewed. The minutes almost seemed like hour.the minutes that during the minutes that followed.  The minutes could have shouted for Then at last,  turning the corner came a jolly-looking policeman.  Alan joy
    "I'll see this gentleman home,  little boy,"  the policeman said,  after Alan explained what had happened.
      Then Alan ran off and flew as fast as his legs would carry him to the sports ground.  But the game had started when he arrived.
      "Why,  it's Alan,"  said the teacher,  who was standing just inside the entrance. "You're not much good if you can't come up to time.  We have put in young Harold Banks in your place.  Fortunately,  he's putting some good balls over."
       Alan bit his lip.  How could he explain He turned away and made his way slowly home.  His father opened the door.
      "Bravo,  Alan,"  he said,  patting his little son on the back. "But,  Daddy.  began Alan.
    But his father interrupted him.
    "It's all right.  It was the old man,"  he said, "You see,  I came up behind that policeman and he told me what had happened.  So I knew you were playing the game although it wasn't on the cricket pitch.  So I went back to the market place and bought the bicycle I promised you.  It's a beauty.  And Alan we're proud of you,  your Mother and I."
     And in the classroom next morning,  the boys gave Alan three loud cheers,  as only schoolboys can, for in some musterious fashion they too had learned all about kis kind act.