Curtis Jerry Smothers - Teacher, Editor, Poet, Writing Coach
Poems about Sports
I've been a sports fan all my life. As a kid in St. Louis I used to go to Sportsman's Park on Ladies' day in hopes that some kind old soul would adopt me and escort me into the ballpark free. Here is a collection of my impressions (and, yes, prejudices) when it comes sports. (Spoiler alert: I don't care for soccer.)
I Love Baseball
As football's fights bring winter's end
And roundball dribbles out
Spring brings beloved baseball
As good weather turns about
"Play ball!" the umpire bellows
"Cold beer!" the vendor yells
And we nosh those golden goobers
And toss their tawny shells
From bleacher steps to railings
To outfield's grassy green
Where fielders stare and focus
Intent on infield's scene
Where the batter and the pitcher
Each ponders what comes next
The un-hit strike or screaming hit
Determine who gets vexed
The bat that strikes the baseball
The ball that slaps the glove
The screaming of the happy crowd
Are baseball's sounds we love
But when, alas, the season's through
And autumn leaves turn red
The tarp blanket on green infield
Puts our game to bed
We turn thoughts back to football
And basketball's ballet
With patient sighs for winter's end
And baseball's coming day
Another Brand of Football
There’s another brand of football
Which to me seems rather boring
No passes or rough tackles
And a paucity of scoring
They love that game in Europe
In the U.S. not so much
We get our kicks from scrimmage
And the pigskin’s soothing touch
A four-year World Cup fever
Burns through those foreign fans
They drink the FiFA Kool Aid
In colorful, draped stands
But after ninety minutes
Of kicking by their heroes
It’s hard to get excited
When the score is double zeroes
​
There’s another brand of football
With no helmets in the locker
It’s really not real football
With a dodgeball we call soccer
Golf’s Gentle Insanity
1
We tee up at the break of dawn
And drive into the sun
Each golfer hopes this will become
His finest round begun
2
Across green fairways trimmed with care
Past greens like sheets of felt
No finer sporting landscape lives
Where human feet have dwelt
3
Yet ponds and ditches lie in wait
With bunkers white and cruel
The rough stands thick on every side
To thwart the bravest fool
4
A wayward shot sails far astray
Toward golfers just before
Then echoes ring across the course
A frantic cry of “Fore!”
5
Doglegs bend both left and right
Tempting the bold to stray;
The shortest route looks safest still
Until the price they pay
6
Duffers slice and hook and whiff
The experts fade and draw;
Both tramp the woods with equal hope
Searching for the ball
7
The caddie hands the club with care
And offers calm advice
He knows the ball will find the pond—
He's seen it once or twice
Hockey
Zamboni's brush paints frozen ice
As the hallowed rink is healed
A path for iron-shod warriors
On hockey's ice-glazed field
The shushing of the skate-scraped ice
Puck slapped by hardwood sticks
Launched by skating giants
In high excitement's pitch
The ice-crazed crowd oohs and ahs
The puck quicker than the eye
Slides towards the grim masked goalie
To the net where all hopes lie
Three rounds, two intermissions
To quaff the beered-up crowd
As helmets leak testosterone
Where brawling is allowed
Zambonis sail on hockey's seams
Red ice is at their prow
They navigate through players' blood
That stripe-ed refs allow
And with unmet expectations
Buzzed fans just scream and shout
They came to see an icy brawl
But a hockey game broke out
Basketball's Ballet
​
On courts of hardwood, bathed in light
Sneakers squeak a running fight
The ball arcs high through open air
As athletes rise with timing rare
​
From humble gyms to grand arenas
The game unfolds in countless venues
Five players gather, heads inclined
A final play now fills each mind
​
Man-to-man or zone defense
A clash of bodies, swift, intense
Down the court the fast break flies
In one quick flash the scoreboard ties
​
The referee who blows the whistle
Can thrill the fans or make them bristle
Calling fouls or game infractions
Bringing waves of strong reactions
​
Rebounds battled, elbows thrown
No inch of hardwood stands alone
Each possession fiercely won
Beneath the lights and roaring throng
​
The clock winds down, the crowd grows still
One final shot from strength and skill
A bouncing round ball, suspended breath
Then triumph's cry—or sudden death
​
Naismith hung peach baskets high
And watched his simple vision fly
From winter gym to worldwide fame
Millions now embrace the game
8
He laughs behind his helping hand
Though not a word is said
He's watched a thousand duffers swear
They aimed elsewhere instead
9
A hole in one! The rarest prize
An eagle's soaring flight
A birdie always warms the soul
While par feels just about right
10
Upon the green the putter rules
Where every inch seems four
A tap-in somehow lips right out—
Then rolls an inch or more
11
Then bogeys spoil the scorecard
And doubles make us groan
We blame the wind the clubs the course—
But never on our own
12
For golf's the only game we know
Where less is counted more;
The victor is the one who needs
The fewest strokes to score
13
We add our scores at hole nineteen
And regret another day
We swear we'll never play again
Until tomorrow's play
14
For golfers live on endless hope
On the fairway’s calm green sea
That one white whale, a perfect shot
On the next hole yet to be
Football's Game Day
As Fall's ballet pirouettes
The turnstile turns ajar
The stadium is our battlefield
Game day our latest war
Red colors of the changing leaves
Team colors in the stands
Chewing gum beneath the seat
Cacophony of bands
Aroma of the hotdogs
The peanut vendor's shout
Overwhelm all our resistance
As the diet turns about
At last run out the warriors
Like Mars away from home
The jumping of the cheering nymphs
And unbridled testosterone
From the vantage of the seated fan
Football's a game of running
At times the ball is in the air
At times the violence stunning
But mostly it's all space and time
Four chances for ten yards
Where land's exchanged for casualties
Despite behemoth guards
And when the clock expires the game
With exhausted patience nettled
And digested hot dogs churn
The struggle finally settled
We remember that this game day
Despite all football's arts
Was far more than a single game
An event more than its parts
Tennis, Anyone?
​
White-lined courts invite us all
Ready for the bouncing ball
Rackets strung, excitement, fun
Who plays tennis? Anyone!
One on one or partners four,
Trading shots and keeping score
Hitting hard or dropping light
Winning points by skill and might
Love means nothing—strange but true
Forty-Love? You're cruising through
Then comes deuce—that curious place
Where nerve and patience set the pace
Advantage gained, then back to deuce,
Neither player can cut one loose.
Forehands snap and backhands fly
Lobs and volleys fill the sky
Every point begins the same
Every player owns the game
Rich or poor, unknown or known,
They stand upon the court alone
​
From Wimbledon’s famed grass so green
To public courts less grandly seen
Heads all swivel left and right
Tracking every shot in flight
​
Winners rise by earned acclaim
Not by clock or favored name.
Every contest makes it plain:
Lose today—you catch the train
​
Children learn and seniors play
Finding joy in every day.
Old folks with their steady grace
Win with touch instead of pace
​
So here's a toast to courts of green
Or hard-packed clay where stars are seen.
Odd the scoring may appear—
The game's good sense is crystal clear.
For every serve's a brand-new chance
Every rally life's own dance
Whether champion or beginner's son—
We say yes to "Tennis, anyone?"
