The air is cold, the ice is hard;
my skates are sharp as swords.
My mom and dad are side by side
and right behind the boards.
“Get the puck!” my father yells.
The puck skids past my stick —
then Eddie Cooper steals the puck
which makes me feel quite sick.
He now goes hurtling down the ice,
the puck in his control.
The air feels even colder
as I watch him score a goal.
His goal becomes the winning goal;
they win it four to three,
and deep inside, I tell myself,
they won because of me.
Someday, it just won’t matter.
Someday, I won’t mind blame.
Someday, in fact, I’ll laugh at this
when I’m a Calgary Flame.
The Lonely Meatball 
Awesome post 👍🏻👍🏻
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That’s the attitude, Casey. Well, if Casey had a stick instead of a bat and a puck…never mind. Eddie Cooper will remember and will sit in the sports bar with his buddies and say, “Hey! I know that guy! Let me tell you a story…”
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LOL. That is exactly what would happen.
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I love your poems! They are always so fun
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Thank you, Beck! Your comment made my day.
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I second Beck!!! Great stuff!
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Thank you!! It means a lot.
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