Friday, July 29, 2011

So Football retuns while Iron Mike doesn't


The Ballad of Iron Mike

Then they returned, those men of muscle
and chemicals, to do battle for our pleasure.
Fast men of crashes, their stadiums filled
with colored jersey uniforms. Hated and loved,
they feel the sore of Mondays, when
the toll of destruction for cheers and curses
goes to the bone. They know they will soon
be wadded up and pitched into the heap
of has beens once their bodies give out.
Best to focus on the next play, the next
pass. They are cut open with daggers
of numbers. Others’ fantasy football
is their real pain. Never enough, like
when Mike Webster, the anchor of a center,
finished sacrificing his brain cells
for the joy of over gorged Steeler fans,
their jello bellies flapping in the wind,
he could only find sleep by shocking,
tazer in hand, his dying brain. They
found him dead, the game had killed
him. But by the then, new players
were blowing the brains on Sunday
afternoons, and no one noticed.
No one cared.

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