Sport

Fussball

Heinz Erhardt (1909-1979)

Vierundvierzig Beine rasen
durch die Gegend ohne Ziel,
und weil sie so rasen müssen,
nennt man das ein Rasenspiel.
Rechts und links stehn zwei Gestelle,
je ein Spieler steht davor.
Hält den Ball er, er ist ein Held er,
hält er nicht, schreit man "Du Toooor!"

Fussbal spielt man meistens immer
mit der unteren Figur.
Mit dem Kopf, obwohl's erlaubt ist
spielt man ihn ganz selten nur.

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The Base Stealer

Robert Francis (1901-1987)

Poised between going on and back, pulled
Both ways taut like a tightrope walker,
Fingertips pointing the opposites,
Now bouncing tiptoe like a dropped ball
Or a kid skipping rope, come on, come on,
Running a scattering of steps sidewise,
How he teeters, skitters, tingles, teases,
Taunts them, hovers like an ecstatic bird,
He's only flirting, crowd him, crowd him,
Delicate, delicate, delicate, delicate-now!

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ping pong

Eugen Gomringer (1925- )

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Sportsmen in Paradise

T. P. Cameron Wilson (1889–1918)

They left the fury of the fight,
And they were very tired.
The gates of Heaven were open quite,
Unguarded and unwired.
There was no sound of any gun,
The land was still and green;
Wide hills lay silent in the sun,
Blue valleys slept between.

They saw far-off a little wood
Stand up against the sky.
Knee-deep in grass a great tree stood;
Some lazy cows went by...
There were some rooks sailed overhead,
And once a church-bell pealed.
"God! but it's England," someone said,
"And there's a cricket-field!"

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Nächtliches Stadion

Günter Grass (1927- )

Langsam ging der Fussball am Himmel auf.
Nun sah man, dass die Tribüne besetzt war.
Einsam stand der Dichter im Tor,
Doch der Schiedsrichter pfiff: Abseits.

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Donnybrook at Riverfront Stadium

Lillian Morrison

Oh, what a melee
Oh, what a brawl
Oh, what a slambang
Free-for-all.

Managers, umpires
And 48 players
Rolled on the ground
In knots and layers.

Knight pushed Davis?
Davis shoved Knight?
Boys will be boys.
A bench-clearing fight.

The two were ejected.
Soto, Mitchell, the same.
Pitchers played outfield.
Some baseball game.

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Tour de France

Günter Grass (1927- )

Als die Spitzengruppe
von einem Zitronenfalter
überholt wurde,
gaben viele Radfahrer das Rennen auf.

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Tich Miller

Wendy Cope (1945 - )

Tich Miller wore glasses
with elastoplast-pink frames
and had one foot three sizes larger than the other.

When they picked teams for outdoor games
she and I were always the last two
left standing by the wire-mesh fence.

We avoided one another's eyes
stooping, perhaps, to re-tie a shoelace,
or affecting interest in the flight

of some fortunate bird, and pretended
not to hear the urgent conference:
'Have Tubby!' 'No, no, have Tich!'

Usually they chose me, the lesser dud,
and she lolloped, unselected,
to the back of the other team.

At eleven we went to different schools.
In time I learned to get my own back,
sneering at hockey-players who couldn't spell.

Tich died when she was twelve.

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Wettrennen

Ernst Jandl (1925-2000)

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Men on the terraces

G. Jeffrey

Rain fell sadly throughout the match;
Two goals were shared, but nobody cared,
Or seemed to care, about the match.
Why did we stay on the terraces,
Watching a game, not worth the name?

Surely there are better places?
More admirable ways of using
Saturday afternoon, than choosing
To watch men playing a game they're paid for?

(Isn't that what Englishmen were made for?)

But sometimes during the dullest play
Something comes back from an earlier day.
A fleeting moment, a hint of grace,
Brings back a feeling, a time, a place...

We are more than what we seem -
Men on the terraces soaking wet.
We have glimpsed part of our golden dream,
Our April glory, Together, yet
Private, as though recall
The hopes and dreams of what we were,
Or wanted to be, in the far-off days.

A forward slips on the rain-soaked ground,
The goalkeeper safely gathers the ball...
Slowly the thoughts of yesteryear
Flicker and fade in the smoke and haze
Lowering over the football ground.

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The Lay of the Troubled Golfer

Edgar A. Guest (1881-1959)

His eye was wild and his face was taut with anger and hate and rage,
And the things he muttered were much too strong for the ink of the printed page.
I found him there when the dusk came down, in his golf clothes still was he,
And his clubs were strewn around his feet as he told his grief to me:
"I'd an easy five for a seventy-nine -- in sight of the golden goal --
An easy five and I took an eight -- an eight on the eighteenth hole!

"I've dreamed my dreams of the `seventy men', and I've worked year after year,
I have vowed I would stand with the chosen few ere the end of my golf career;
I've cherished the thought of a seventy score, and the days have come and gone
And I've never been close to the golden goal my heart was set upon.
But today I stood on the eighteenth tee and counted that score of mine,
And my pulses raced with the thrill of joy -- I'd a five for seventy-nine!

"I can kick the ball from the eighteenth tee and get this hole in five,
But I took the wood and I tried to cross that ditch with a mighty drive --"
Let us end the quotes, it is best for all to imagine his language rich,
But he topped that ball, as we often do, and the pill stopped in the ditch.
His third was short and his fourth was bad and his fifth was off the line,
And he took an eight on the eighteenth hole with a five for a seventy-nine.

I gathered his clubs and I took his arm and alone in the locker room
I left him sitting upon the bench, a picture of grief and gloom;
And the last man came and took his shower and hurried upon his way,
But still he sat with his head bowed down like one with a mind astray,
And he counted his score card o'er and o'er and muttered this doleful whine:
"I took an eight on the eighteenth hole, with a five for a seventy-nine!"

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The Ted Williams Villanelle
(for Ari Badaines)

Wendy Cope (1945-)

"Don't let anybody mess with your swing."
                     Ted Williams, baseball player

Watch the ball and do your thing.
This is the moment. Here's your chance.
Don't let anybody mess with your swing.

Its time to shine. You're in the ring.
Step forward, adopt a winning stance,
Watch the ball and do your thing,

And while the ball is taking wing,
Run without a backward glance.
Don't let anybody mess with your swing.

Don't let envious bastards bring
You down. Ignore the sneers, the can'ts.
watch the ball and do your thing.

Sing out, if you want to sing.
Jump up, when you long to dance.
Don't let anybody mess with your swing.

Enjoy your talents. Have your fling.
The seasons change. The years advance.
Watch the ball and do your thing,
And don't let anybody mess with your swing.

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American Football

Harold Pinter (1930- )

Hallelujah!
It works.
We blew the shit out of them.

We blew the shit right back up their own ass
And out their fucking ears.

It works.
We blew the shit out of them.
They suffocated in their own shit!

Hallelujah.
Praise the Lord for all good things.

We blew them into fucking shit.
They are eating it.

Praise the Lord for all good things.

We blew their balls into shards of dust,
Into shards of fucking dust.
Now I want you to come over here
and kiss me on the mouth..
We did it.

Now I want you to come over here and kiss me on the mouth.

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Take Me Out to the Ball Game

Jack Norworth (1879-1959)

Katie Casey was baseball mad,
Had the fever and had it bad;
 Just to root for the home town crew,
 ev'ry sou Katie blew
 On a Saturday, her young beau
 called to see if she'd like to go,
 To see a show but Miss Katie said "no,
 I'll tell you what you can do;"

 Take me out to the ball game,
 Take me out with the crowd
 Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack,
 I don't care if I never get back,
 Let me root, root, root for the home team,
 If they don't win it's a shame
 For it's one, two, three strikes, you're out,
 At the old ball game.

 Katie Casey saw all the games,
 Knew the players by their first names;
 Told the umpire he was wrong,
 all along good and strong
 When the score was just two to two,
 Katie Casey knew what to do,
 Just to cheer up the boys she knew,
 She made the gang sing this song:

 Take me out to the ball game,
 Take me out with the crowd
 Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack,
 I don't care if I never get back,
 Let me root, root, root for the home team,
 If they don't win it's a shame
 For it's one, two, three strikes, you're out,
 At the old ball game.

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