Poems about basketball

I Run my fingers through my hair
Try to shake that piercing stare
I step up, take a deep breath
I'm so close, I'm scared to death.

I bounce the ball
Now, I can't afford to fall
This is the deciding shot
Shit. My face feels hot

53-53
Everyone is watching me
The other team screamed and yelled
If I miss, I'll go through hell

I spin the ball, get in my stance
Then i let it leave my hands
It soars up in a graceful arc
I'm relieved as it hits its mark

The clock runs out
I hear people shout
We won, we're moving on

Finally my fear was gone.

The whistle is blown
The ball is thrown
Up into the air
For anyone it's fair

Grab it up quick
Get ready for the pick
Here it comes, there you go
And now it's two to zero

A few seconds on the clock
The other team is in shock
I can still move faster
And blow right past 'em

Scoring right before the bell
We say farewell
To the worry we had
Of losing too bad

~i have never particularly cared for him or for his style of play. there is a fine line between knowledge of one's talents and arrogance and i have always thought Kobe walked on the downhill side of that line, when doing so was unnecessary. of course it did not help that a Lakers / Blazers rivalry cost the Blazers at least one NBA Finals berth... most of us are, after all, most likely to gravitate toward our hometown team.

But on seeing this post from Kobe in the Player's Tribune, i found that i simply must acknowledge the classiness of his retirement penning...

Instead of a letter, the guy writes a poem. how can i not embrace this?



~BY KOBE BRYANT
LOS ANGELES LAKERS

Dear Basketball,

From the moment
I started rolling my dad's tube socks
And shooting imaginary
Game-winning shots
In the Great Western Forum
I knew one thing was real:

I fell in love with you.
A love so deep I gave you my all —
From my mind & body
To my spirit & soul.

As a six-year-old boy
Deeply in love with you
I never saw the end of the tunnel.
I only saw myself
Running out of one.

And so I ran.
I ran up and down every court
After every loose ball for you.
You asked for my hustle
I gave you my heart
Because it came with so much more.

I played through the sweat and hurt
Not because challenge called me
But because YOU called me.
I did everything for YOU
Because that's what you do
When someone makes you feel as
Alive as you've made me feel.

You gave a six-year-old boy his Laker dream
And I'll always love you for it.
But I can't love you obsessively for much longer.
This season is all I have left to give.
My heart can take the pounding
My mind can handle the grind
But my body knows it's time to say goodbye.

And that's OK.
I'm ready to let you go.
I want you to know now
So we both can savor every moment we have left together.
The good and the bad.
We have given each other
All that we have.

And we both know, no matter what I do next
I'll always be that kid
With the rolled up socks
Garbage can in the corner
: 05 seconds on the clock
Ball in my hands.
5 ... 4 ... 3 ... 2 ... 1

Love you always,
Kobe

Basketball is a challenging sport,
We run plays on the court.
Many people play short or tall,
You pass the ball,
Across the floor.
Make a layup. Score!
The final half its 23 to 24.
Today's the day I make a three pointer.
I shoot the ball.
It's all net.

I know the way your breath sounds behind me
And I can feel your footsteps in my soul
I instantly know what you will do next-
Your hips tell the story that your arms and your legs try to hide
I know where you are going and I can sense your mind
Working through the possibilities
But I know next to nothing about you-
How do you sleep at night? do you write, do you draw
What does it look like when you are in love
I can trace every intricacy of your thought processes
But I do not know what makes you cry, or laugh, or think deeply;
I can name your fears but not your joys;
I can see where your eyes go and what your sexuality is,
But I do not know how to make you moan
Or how to touch your skin as though
It is the only art medium I will ever have
I can align my steps perfectly with yours and I can know you
Beyond imagining, beyond reality, more completely than any before,
But you will always be something beyond my reach.

Pearl Avenue runs past the high-school lot,
Bends with the trolley tracks, and stops, cut off
Before it has a chance to go two blocks,
At Colonel McComsky Plaza. Berth's Garage
Is on the corner facing west, and there,
Most days, you'll find Flick Webb, who helps Berth out.

Flick stands tall among the idiot pumps-
Five on a side, the old bubble-head style,
Their rubber elbows hanging loose and low.
One's nostrils are two S's, and his eyes
An E and O. And one is squat, without
A head at all-more of a football type.

Once Flick played for the high-school team, the Wizards.
He was good: in fact, the best. In '46
He bucketed three hundred ninety points,
A county record still. The ball loved Flick.
I saw him rack up thirty-eight or forty
In one home game. His hands were like wild birds.

He never learned a trade, he just sells gas,
Checks oil, and changes flats. Once in a while,
As a gag, he dribbles an inner tube,
But most of us remember anyway.
His hands are fine and nervous on the lug wrench.
It makes no difference to the lug wrench, though.

Off work, he hangs around Mae's Luncheonette.
Grease-gray and kind of coiled, he plays pinball,
Smokes those thin cigars, nurses lemon phosphates.
Flick seldom says a word to Mae, just nods
Beyond her face toward bright applauding tiers
Of Necco Wafers, Nibs, and Juju Beads.

Basketball is fun as shit it gets the energy outta me

People consider basketball a non-violent sport
Well you should see my body
Sure I have the heart, and height
But I never seem to score
I have to pray to be put in
I feel like I'm just not good enough
But I'm gonna stick with it
Because I'll be good soon enough
I love basketball
I love my team
I love all the support
I feel like its all a dream
Thanks to all the girls
Putting up with my lack of knowledge
I really appreciate it
I love you guys
Thank you so much