DO YOU WANT TO BE A CHAMPION?
Do you want to run ‘til your lungs
are tight,
Do you want to hustle with all your
might,
Do you want your shirt soaking with
sweat,
Work, my son, you’ll be a champion
yet.
Can you take bad breaks in a hard
fought game,
Can you be way down and fight just
the same,
Can you face the task with a goal
that’s set,
Steady, my son, you’ll be a champion
yet.
Is your spirit inside a burning
flame,
Is your want to strong, or feeble
and lame,
Is your eye on target, a goal to be
met,
Fire-up, young man, you’ll be a
champion yet.
Do you feel the sting of blisters
you’ve worn,
Do your legs grow limp from bucking
the storm,
Do you study odds and know the best
bet,
Listen, my son, you’ll be a champion
yet.
Will you live like a Spartan and
always train,
Will you tame your passions for self
and the game,
Will you obey the rules that you
have set,
Discipline, lad, you’ll be a
champion yet.
Do you hear voices cry out every
mistake,
Do you fear the jeers for errors you
make,
Add plus with minus to balance the
net,
Patience, my son, you’ll be a
champion yet.
Can you lose yourself in competitive
fire,
Can you lift up your game going down
to the wire,
Can you rise from defeat once the
verdict is set,
Defiance, my son, you’ll be a
champion yet.
It’s not in the score as much as the
mind,
It’s not in the glory, the fame, or
the kind,
It is in the motto, “You must give
to get,”
Hang in there, son, you’ll be a
champion yet. |
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POEMS
“The Man In the Glass”
by Harry Holland Upchurch
When you get what you want in your
struggle for self
And the world makes you king for a
day
Just go to the mirror and look at
yourself
And see what that man has to say.
For it isn’t your Father or Mother
or wife
Whose judgment upon you must pass
The fellow whose verdict counts most
in your life
Is the one staring back from the
glass.
Some people may call you a straight
shooting chum
And call you a wonderful guy,
But the man in the glass says you’re
only a bum
If you can’t look him straight in
the eye.
He’s the fellow to please, never
mind all the rest
For he’s with you clear to the end
And you have passed your most
dangerous test
If the man in the glass is your
friend.
You may fool the whole world down
the pathway of years
And get pats on the back as you pass
But your final reward will be
heartache and tears
If you’ve cheated the man in the
glass.
It Couldn't Be
Done
by Edgar Guest
Somebody said that
it couldn't be done,
But he with a
chuckle replied
That "maybe it
couldn't," but he
would be one
Who wouldn't say so
till he'd tried.
So he buckled right
in with the trace of
a grin
On his face. If he
worried he hid it.
He started to sing
as he tackled the
thing
That couldn't be
done, and he did it.
Somebody scoffed:
"Oh, you'll never do
that;
At least no one ever
has done it";
But he took off his
coat and he took off
his hat,
And the first thing
we knew he'd begun
it.
With a lift of his
chin and a bit of a
grin,
Without any doubting
or quiddit,
He started to sing
as he tackled the
thing
That couldn't be
done, and he did it.
There are thousands
to tell you it
cannot be done,
There are thousands
to prophesy failure;
There are thousands
to point out to you,
one by one,
The dangers that
wait to assail you.
But just buckle in
with a bit of a
grin,
Just take off your
coat and go to it;
Just start to sing
as you tackle the
thing
That "cannot be
done," and you'll do
it.
Finally, one of
Coach Wooden’s
Favorite Little
Poems:
(he found this in a
barbershop)
At God’s footstool
to confess,
A poor soul knelt
and bowed his head.
“I failed,” he
cried. The Master
said,
“Thou didst thy
best, that is
success.”
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