Lines

Underneath the seasons, above the vulgar
Grass, mud and turf that tender bat and ball.
Within the testing grounds, infinitely free
True Lines roam, to make and shatter dreams.

Terrible white channels, narrow and wide,
What tears have sewn your artificial soil?
What sweat stained, what blood marred
Your infinite grandeur? your unique soul?

Where ambition and determination collide
To the sound of torn muscles, strained bones,
And your strength will fade, but forever
The challenge and passion will grow.

And as modern gladiators, the great and small,
Those terrible white lines voluntarily do face.
Their movement is their expression,
And the personal battle their escape.

For every defeat suffered, within the lines;
Whether it be bronze, silver, gold or nothing.
The experience is still in our memories,
To make us brave, to make us something!

For the victors that ultimately emerge,
Are the resolved, the strong-willed.
The champions not scared to run again,
When the white lines call.