On this eve of the first game, I am afraid that I dread,
Any playtime at all for my son, and with that said,
I hope he gets in, but for only a few minutes,
Because after an hour or so I get tired of fake grinning.
I want the team to do well, but could do without the bruises,
And that goes double for concussions and contusions.
My idea of a good game and a good season,
Is one where we don’t need a doctor, nurse or any EMTs in.
Oh why do they park that ambulance where I can see it?
Don’t they know it causes stomach pain, nerve wracking and diarrhea?
I want the stretcher ready but completely out of sight,
So that I can keep any injury out of mind until the end of the night.
Of course I have to be present at every game,
Calling on the angels and saints of every name.
Breathing heavy sighs of relief at the end of each quarter,
And with each tick of the clock, wishing that they were shorter.
Forgive me my stance, which is to pray,
That he doesn’t get in for most of the plays.
His prayer isn’t the same, he wants to get in,
So we are on opposing sides, and I want to win.
And if he does get in, please make it quick,
And send the play far away because I feel kind of sick.
All that pushing and shoving and tackling can make a mom go crazy,
And wish that her child were perhaps, just a tad fat and lazy?
Even though he’s six foot two and has more muscle than me,
My job is to worry and from what I can see,
Football is a wrinkle maker and hearing hits way up in the stands,
Hasn’t done any wonders for my husband as I dig my nails into his hands.
Lord, be with me and all the moms throughout this night,
And be with all the kids during this game that closely resembles a fight.
Keep it injury free and let them have their fun,
Because I am no Vince Lombardi when it’s all said and done.
“Show me a good loser, and I’ll show you a loser.” ~ Vince Lombardi
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