March Madness lasts for such a short time. I cannot believe that we're already down to the 'Sweet 16' round - eliminating 48 of the 64 teams which originally started. (That stat is courtesy of my husband, Glen.)
And what a year this has been! Glen and I have already lost our National Champion in our brackets (Kansas) - what a game! Neither of us begrudge Kansas' loss to Northern Iowa. UNI is almost a home team for us. We met and married in Waterloo/Cedar Falls - Glen was on staff with Campus Crusade for Christ at UNI and I was working for KWWL-TV.
It's the upsets that make the tournament so fascinating - and picking the right ones this year has been hard. Anna's done the best - she picked Murray State over Vanderbuilt. I remember her asking me, "Does a 13 ever beat a 4? Does a 12 ever beat a 5?" I said, "Yes, that has happened, but it doesn't happen often." I think Anna wins our pool of picking the most upsets correctly.
But none of us ever thought that UNI would knock Kansas out of the tournament in the second round.
Just writing about the games makes me excited! My poem this week is a long one - but a great one about basketball. I found it in the library, a book unto itself. I think it captures the feel of the game wonderfully well.
Hoops
By Robert Burleigh
Hoops.
The game.
Feel it.
The rough roundness.
The ball
like a piece
of the thin long reach
of your body.
The way it answers whenever you call.
The never-stop back and forth flow,
like tides going in, going out.
The smooth,
skaterly glide
and sudden swerve.
The sideways slip
Through a moment of narrow space.
The cool.
The into
and under
and up.
The feathery fingertip roll
and soft slow drop.
Feel your throat on fire.
Feel the asphalt burning beneath your shoes.
The two-of-you rhythm.
The know-where-everyone-is without having to look.
The watching
and waiting
to poke
and pounce.
The fox on the lurk.
The hunger.
The leap from the pack.
The out-in-the-clear
like a stallion
with wind in your face.
The bent legs tense
as the missed shot swirls
and silently spins.
The hawk.
your arm shooting up
through a thicket of arms.
The lean
and brush
and burst free.
The skittery,
cat-footed dance
along the baseline.
The taste
for the rock in your hands
when it counts the most.
The weight of you
hanging from fine,
invisible threads.
The eyes.
The arc.
The no-sound
sound of the ball
as it sinks
through nothing but still,
pure air.
Yes.
Hoops.
The game.
Feel it.
poetry wednesday!
Picture courtesy of flickr.com:
4 comments:
I always forget you lived in our neck of the woods. Oh Iowa. I also love the sports/basketball themed poems. Have I mentioned that I was my father's son?
Also wanted to let you know that we received our referral yesterday for a beautiful six-month-year old girl who were are calling Lucia.
Michelle,
That awesome poem ALMOST makes me appreciate basketball! : ) What Troy would give for me to talk about any sport so enthusiastically. It was great to spend time with your family this past weekend!
Enjoyed the poem - am still not feeling basketball. Our house is not a sports house, not by my doing, my husband is just not a sports guy (for which I breathe a giant sigh of relief!).
We're not a huge sports house - except NCAA tournament. We like to watch football on Sundays too, but that's about it. I think my brother watches more sports than we do! :)
But we do love our NCAA tourney - especially this year.
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