Here is the One Possession- Poem

It was only one possession,

Why does my coach scream?
My poor ‘D’ allowed a basket,
But what does one hoop mean?

As the pass comes my direction,

I fumble it into the stands,

My coach’s voice rings loud and clear,

“Always use both hands!”

C’mon coach, its one possession,
Our team will be OK,
It’s just the first two minutes,
I mean damn, we’ve got all day!
In the beginning of the 2nd quarter,
Their center is strong and stout,
He scores an easy two, quite simply due,
From my failure to block out.
It was only one possession,
I didn't commit a crime,
My team is ahead and I’m playing well,
And there’s still plenty of time!

As the halftime buzzer sounds,
I watch the ball bank in,
I know I will hear it from my coach,
Asking why I don’t defend.
But it was only one possession,
Coach – don’t have a heart attack,
We’re only down one and we’re having fun,
I know we’ll get it back!

The 2nd half is much the same,
So it is really no big deal,
That my lazy and careless pass,
Results in an easy steal.
I quickly sink a jumper,
I’m greeted by high fives and slaps,
But the next time down, I give up a lay-up,
While suffering a mental lapse.

It’s only one possession,
C’mon coach just chill out!
It’s crazy to see you so mad,
As you consistently scream and shout:
“Victory favors the team,
Making the fewest mistakes.
Singles possessions are the key,
And will cut down their fast breaks.”

I step to the line for a one and one,
The game is in my hands.
I can’t believe I missed it short,
And hear cheers from their fans.
After the game I pouted,
Knowing what I could have done,
Realizing the value of each possession,
Damn, we lost by one.

Play hard. Play smart. Play Together… every possession.

Alan Stein

The Man on the Bench - Poem

The Man on the Bench

The man on the bench is the man for me
He's not the star, but he's the key .
Without his aid and help each day,
I doubt if there would be a play.
Every run by a team on "big game" day
He holds the dummy and shows the way when
The other team runs that certain play.
When not being clocked, he's chasing punts.
Or shagging fly balls, and fielding bunts,
Or a hundred and one other useful stunts.
He's always the "skins" against the “shirts",
And the night of the game he sits and hurts,
He helps with equipment, and picks up balls.
Sets up the hurdles, and takes the falls,
But is always ready when some coach calls.
He's not on the sports page every time
When a "dollar" is waiting, he's the "dime"

He comes to the banquet with a little prayer,
Hoping this year the "letter" is there.
As he squirms wishfully in his chair.
And he suffers a little along with his coach,
As the names are read and no approach
Is made to him there is a wrench
In his heart.  But his teeth will clench, 
As he says, "next year", this man on the bench.
What happens to all the men like these.  
Who seem, all elbows, thumbs, and knees.  
Don't feel sorry for their frustrations, 
They are the men who head corporations, 
And sit on the councils of great nations. 

They learn the value of raw sheer grit, 
The determination that won't say quit.  
The value of facing rugged strife 
To face the gun with just a knife, 
They learn how to make a fight in life. 
To the man on the bench I give my hand 
With the greatest respect, 'cause he's my man,
Please don't worry, he'll go far
Be it jet propulison or motor car,
Somewhere in life, he will be a star.