Men love sports.
It’s just that simple.
Must be something in the genes,
Or maybe in their DNA that
Makes them want to go outside
To run and chase a ball all day.
Or maybe it’s the Peter Pan inside
That makes them want to play.
Running, throwing, hitting, kicking,
Dashing hither into yon.
Swimming, shooting, rowing, rolling,
Jogging in a marathon.
Hours blessed by strain and stress
Reaching for that sure relief
That overdoing brings at last
To spirits born of pure belief.
What sad truth is bane to this?
To make a man a child.
To cure his ills
And raise his chills,
If only for a little while.
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