The tip-off was impending, a ninth-grade j.v. game,
The stands were nearly empty, 'cause only parents came,
The home team dressed in cardinal red, the visitors in white,
In this Dad's mind, impending doom, foresaw a real long night.
The visitors had yet to win, the home team yet to lose,
If I were but a drinking man, I'd find a shot of booze,
The ball was tossed, the game commenced, the crowd let out a roar,
Before the game was seconds old, the home team first did score.
Half-time came, the game a rout, twenty-eight to four,
The home team with the visitors, was mopping up the floor,
The game resumed, the second half, my daughter had the ball,
Dribbled cross the center line, silence filled the hall.
I rose to yell in booming voice, you have them running scared!!!
Players, coaches and the refs, looked up at me and stared,
I'd like to say the tide was turned, the comeback of all times,
I'm sad to say the final score, fifty-four to nine.
A long ride home that fateful night, as daughter she did pout,
From j.v. games I was retired, father Tim he had struck out.
[This message has been edited by Tim (edited 11-16-1999).]