Tuesday, April 7, 2020

Clown: A Poem for the True Hearts of the Beautiful Game


By: Vidda Grubin

Dressed in polished black shoes
Suit and tie with bright breast,
The Clown pointed at numbers
And puffed out his thin chest.

He rang a bell, “Ding! Ding!”
Rubbed his knob like a king,
Sneered and jeered “Hisss, Hisss,”
And on the commons took a piss.

To the likewise minded vultures
He shouted, “Look at the Rubes' culture!”
“They march mindless paying dues,”
“And play ball in cleated shoes.”

The vultures gathered round
Eager to listen to the sound
“Cha Ching! Cha Ching! Cha Ching!”
Of money and Blingy, Bling, Bling.

Middle finger to lips
The Clown whispered “SUM tips.”
“I will dance for the Rubes,”
“While you tie USSF’s tubes.”

Bloodsucker’s bald head
Disguised the MLS gizzard of dread.
On dead presidents SUM feeds,
While the beautiful game bleeds.

The Clown, full, yet unsatisfied
leaned out the window of his golden suite
And with nose turned to the sky
Asked the Rube one question…

“Where did you get such a dirty face,
My darling dirty-faced child?”

The Rube, hair hanging in his face
Sweat and blood dripping down
On the torn turf beneath his feet
Picked up the worn ball and answered

“I got it from fighting for my place in the team
And singing with mates in the pub about dreams.
I got it from risking my club standing brave
And putting myself on the line offside’s grave.
I got it from being a part of the whole
And digging down deep inside of my soul.
I got it from owning small clubs in small towns
And battling my way through bloodsuckers and clowns.
I got it from days on the field with friends
And sitting on bleachers watching a magic ball bend.
I got it from refusing to close myself off from the world
And painting bright colors on my face for a girl.
I got it from mud, dirt and grass stains
And playing when down, hope lost and in pain.
I got it from running, kicking and tears
And from having more fun than you’ve had in years.”

The Clown’s eyes narrowed
His thin lips trembled
His tiny hands shook

Screaming in agony
The Clown spit on the Rube

And ran off confused

The Rube smiled
Brushed the spit from his face
Turned to his mates, ball still in hand
And on the field took his place

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