From Ray Cox: an Eastern view of sport
Ray Cox
Sportswriters talk too much, writing excessively as well.
Droning on and on about hitches in swings, height of toss on serve, and short-armed throws gets to be so tedious.
Me? Guilty in the first degree. Pillory me for my sins, then.
My vow, oft broken previously, is to strive to say more with less.
For hope in what would seem on the face of it to be a hopeless enterprise, I turn to the East. There, writers among our Japanese brethren have illuminated their world for centuries by means of precisely stated poetry.
What follows is the summer sporting scene as portrayed in haiku.
Packed off she goes forth
Bats, glove, spikes confirm intent.
Fair luck at camp, child.
Err he on fly ball
Cruel sun obscures missile’s flight.
No tears in baseball.
Bronze-backed fish eyes bait
Skeptical he considers
Sore mouth it might cause.
Sand covers his shoes
Dismayed he considers his fate
Bogey at best, this.
Balls covered in gold fuzz
A gallery buzzes rudely on.
“Quiet, please,” from the chair.
Watermelon game
Contestants with seeds in mouths
Spitting permitted.
Tea is served at breaks
Croquet hot, hard work indeed
Stronger drink, please.
“Watch bobber, son
When bit it will take a dive
Set the hook quick then.”
“Surfs up,” Beach Boys sing
Odd boss Boy never on board.
A piano called him.
Fireworks blast aloft
Calfee crowd admire the show
Blaze not dry leaves, pray.
Athletes play football
Far away in hot Hampton.
What season is this?
Alone he sobs soft
Forlorn, desperate, and sad.
Betrayed by putter.
Fastball disappears
By errant flight through zone high.
“Ball four,” umpire bawls.
Cyclists in pack spread
Down thin road to fair Catawba
True death wish have they?
Mixed volleyball play
Vicious spike delivered sharp
“Bite this, boy,” she smirks.
Roar rumbles loud, long
Cars speed round fast, faster still.
Race fuel smells divine.
British Open rough
Lefty in deep salad pitches
He: “Are you kidding!”
Shoes gathered to throw
No strong horses there to be shod.
Take aim at steel spike.
Long hike then night camp
Invaded by savage bugs.
I want to go home.
Beach beautiful here
Sand, shell, waves, bikinis, yes!
Scorched skin a true pain.
Snoozing at peace, she
Pretty head on date’s shoulder.
Twelve innings too many.
Hotdog dressed well
In onion, mustard, chili
Is mean to white shirt.
Round tube travels well
Through riffle, run, and rapid
Lazy man at work.
Boom, boom shooter blasts
Clay birds fly swiftly high above
No feathers to pluck.
Deep blue sea beckons
Anglers congregate at rail.
There goes their breakfast.
Mighty man swings bat
With great force but he misses bad
Fan: “I feel the breeze!”
Enough verse, poet thinks
Few words a challenge met true
Noble, brevity.
-Ray Cox covers recreational, high school and college sports in the New River Valley. If you have information you’d like featured, email ray.cox@roanoke.com or call 381-1672.
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