don’t need a medal,
unless it’s golden.
can afford to run down the court,
has the money to fix all his stumbles,
paying the drugs,
and feeding the cat.
all the pain in his back, knees, joints, bones and muscles,
he will suffer them all,
playing a game meant
for pleasure.
making more money with blood,
sweat
and entertainment,
than joe at his job.
he’s not more than a tool,
like the hammer on joe’s belt,
for others to make more,
than he will ever earn.
he might have some bucks,
yet his due date is punched,
will expire soon.
ready to be thrown away,
commenting on a game, where he was the best,
now there are new cats on the block.
fading away,
remembered by the old bellies of the fat fan,
paid to do the expert talk,
on mainstream TV.
thinks he’s a millionaire.
taxes and luxury are reality.
thinning his pocket,
cause a few million ain’t enough,
with a life full of private jets,
filled with fast and easy sex.
he’s shining bright,
in the media light,
married with children,
ready to file the divorce.
no problem to feed three families at once,
easy for him to get back on the horse.
a life free of sin,
going to church,
wearing a cross on his arm,
and around his neck.
thanking the lord,
that playing a sport,
sweet and soft like the girlfriends peck,
keeps him cozy and warm
and delivers his fat paycheck.
building a franchise of his own breed,
that’s why they call him,
a professional athlete.