Back in the day
The blue and gold
Meant winter time
On the hardwood
Dribbling, shooting, monkey drills,
And bronchitis.
It was a yearly affair
The burning cough,
The phlegmy expressions,
A denial of sickness
In the face
Of missing playing time.
The years passed
And so did the yearly hack
Until this year
When coaching reentered my life
Bringing with it
A little of the respiratory fun time.
Perhaps hoops
Just wouldn’t be the same
Without the lung lurching cough
And gallons of whatever
Drips from my nose.
I could do without it, though.
