When the whistle blows,
Few players run for the balls;
The rest wait, for surely
They will be thrown back.
There are also some,
Who throw too fast;
Sorry, dumbass, that hit doesn’t count–
Give it a second or two.
(And not so hard next time,
‘Cause you’ll pull a muscle.)
Then the class divides;
Some charge up, some draw back.
The chargers are the first to go,
But they’ll be back;
Once a classmate reaches out and
Catches a triumphant return.
Our retreaters will survive a while,
Nobly offering their balls;
But when the teacher calls full court…
They’ll be fucked.
(Unless they’re on the winning team,
Because that happens sometimes.)
And there are some who don’t want to play,
Too tired, too sore
Or not good enough.
Just don’t cry when it’s a zero for the day.
