SANTA CLAUS ON THE JUICE? SAY IT AIN'T HO! HO! HO!
When all through the land
Not an athlete could play
To an empty grandstand.
The events had been nixed
By political docs
All looking to banish
Our over-juiced jocks.
The players were muscled all snug in their suits
As visions of champions collecting loots.
And, Mama in her game cap, and I in my own
Paid a C-Note apiece to sit there all alone.
When out on the field there arose such a dither
We sprang to our feet, to see what had come thither.
Away to the sidelines, directing our gaze
We looked through the emptiness, simply amazed.
The sun on the field of our heroes' renown
gave light to the players returning to town.
When, what to our sporting blood's eyes should appear
But Santas all bigger than blimps front to rear.
With Jason Giambi and then Mark McGwire
Came giants of every conceivable hire.
More rapid than bullets of caliber all
They entered the stadium, come to play ball.
Now Sheffield! Korzhanenko! Adrian Annus!
On Barry! Jones! Chambers! On tennis Sampanis!
From the tracks and the fields and the courts you have come!
We're here to see superstars! Now, we'll see some!
We want thousand-foot homers, and a 2-minute mile!
We came to see balls stay aloft for a while!
No more inching along in just mere miles per hour
We want lightning-fast sprinters and Superman power!
We're paying you millions to give us your bests.
Why NOT dope yourselves up for the ultimate tests?
A javelin soaring from here to the street?
Now THAT would be well worth a hundred a seat!
A weightlifter lifting a ton-ful of rock?
A BoSoxer jumping right out of his sock?
A pole-vaulter vaulting a 3-story bar?
A golfer who aces each hole under par?
Who cares if our heroes are chemically treated?
We only want winners who can’t be defeated.
So what if it means we must fudge a few stats?
A sinking ship floats ‘til it sinks. Ask the rats.
But, then in the twinkling of stock market plunged
The athletes were crowned and their records expunged.
No need to compete, when the playing field’s leveled
By bodies of beasts all now bio-bedeviled.
The umpires and judges and referees all
Were no longer needed to sing out a call.
When these steroidal Kringles performed to a rout
They all were called safe, and they all were thrown out.
Keep your Samsons, King Kongs, & your Gub Schwarzeneggers
They're amateurs next to these drugged ham and eggers.
But, we heard them exclaim, as they turned and departed:
"We may all get rich now … but we shouldn’t have started.”
Copyright 2007 B. Elwin Sherman. All rights reserved. Used here with permission. E-mail comments welome!
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