A poem about the fine soccer league, MLS, in the US (this is mine; so, the link to original blog post site and entire poem are below)
http://www.helltownbeer.com/2018/03/clown.html
Clown
By: Vidda Grubin
Inspiration From: Shel Silverstein's Dirty Face
Clown
Dressed in polished black shoes,
A suit and tie with bright breast,
The clown pointed at numbers
And puffed out his thin chest.
He rang a bell, “Ding! Ding!”
Rubbed his knob like a king,
Sneered and jeered “Hisss, Hisss,”
And on the commons took a piss.
To the likewise minded vultures,
He shouted, “Look at the Rubes' culture!”
“They march mindless paying dues”
“And play ball in cleated shoes.”
The vultures gathered round,
Eager to listen to the sound,
“Cha Ching! Cha Ching! Cha Ching!”
Of money and Blingy, Bling, Bling.
Middle finger to lips,
The clown whispered “SUM tips.”
“I will dance for the Rubes,”
“While you tie USSF’s tubes.”
Bloodsuckers' bald heads
Disguised the MLS gizzards of dread.
On dead presidents SUM feeds,
While the beautiful game bleeds.
The clown, cocksure, yet unsatisfied,
Asked a Rube…
Where did you get such a dirty face,
My darling dirty-faced child?
I got it from fighting for my place in the team
And singing with mates in the pub about dreams.
I got it from risking my club standing brave
And putting myself on the line offside’s grave.
I got it from being a part of the whole
And digging down deep inside of my soul.
I got it from owning small clubs in small towns
And battling my way through bloodsuckers and clowns.
I got it from days on the field with friends
And watching a ten make a magic ball bend.
I got it from moving up and back down
And painting bright tifo, a stadium gown.
I got it from mud, dirt and grass stains
And playing when crushed, hope lost and in pain.
I got it from running, kicking and tears
And having more fun than you’ve had in years.
The clown, his pride feeling bruised,
Spit on the Rube and ran off confused.