LH Panther Mom
08-29-2008, 05:17 AM
LHMom's oldest son wrote this poem to her youngest before his "last first" game. Even though it is written by a Panther, to a Panther, and I'm posting for my son and his fellow Seniors, it can apply to Seniors across the state as they begin their final high school season.
The Very Last First
Tonight you’ll walk out
With that purple crown on your head
Worn by those before you
Full of blood, sweat… and tears shed.
Senior Captains,
With footsteps to follow behind,
Your turn to lead,
Your team; Your time.
You’ll be nervous with confidence
Yet still ready for the game,
Poised to dominate
And put doubters to shame.
Yet before you can go,
Prove yourself one last year,
There’s the simple pregame steps,
Written down here.
Doc brings the tape,
Makes it as right as he can.
The pain it takes to play this game
Comes only from a man.
Put the cleats on,
Do the walkthrough,
Think to yourself,
Tonight’s up to you.
The whistles let loose,
Time to head inside,
Take a last look at the field,
And start to focus on tonight.
You’ll soon get padded up,
Take your sweet time,
Till your groups called out,
And then join the line.
The lights will shine,
You’ll stretch just a bit,
You’ll run through some plays,
And walk in to sit.
Take a drink…
Maybe look at your friend,
From seventh grade,
From the start to the end.
The random coaches come by,
And give a slap on the pads.
“Let’s do it. LET’S GO!
GATA! Get Mad!”
Some listen; Some don’t.
For some it’s not their style.
Some scream, some holler,
Others just chill for a while.
Then like BAM here he comes,
Coach Vance and his staff,
Says the same exact speech,
Before every first half.
You’ll listen a bit,
But you’ve heard it before,
Not much new for the seniors,
Yet the wait’s still a chore.
The calm before the thunder,
The rumbling deep inside,
The mix between anticipation,
And the pre-game jitters you try to hide.
Just minutes really,
That’s all the time you’ve got,
Before you go out,
And take the screw in cleat trot.
He’ll call for the prayer.
You’ll hold hands with your brothers.
You know its time -
A feeling like no other.
Walk outside,
and take a look around.
Listen to the buzz of fans
And all of Friday night’s sounds.
Gather up!
It’s the last first game.
You can’t play forever,
Don’t walk off with shame.
No more time left,
Your senior year is here.
No room left for doubt,
No thoughts mingled with fear.
Just strap it up,
And go make your stamp.
Give everything you’ve got,
And you WILL be champs.
Last but not least,
From this voice in your head,
Listen to this most of all,
If you heed anything said.
48 minutes to play
A lifetime to remember,
Make the memories be cold ones
As STATE CHAMPS in December!
The Very Last First
Tonight you’ll walk out
With that purple crown on your head
Worn by those before you
Full of blood, sweat… and tears shed.
Senior Captains,
With footsteps to follow behind,
Your turn to lead,
Your team; Your time.
You’ll be nervous with confidence
Yet still ready for the game,
Poised to dominate
And put doubters to shame.
Yet before you can go,
Prove yourself one last year,
There’s the simple pregame steps,
Written down here.
Doc brings the tape,
Makes it as right as he can.
The pain it takes to play this game
Comes only from a man.
Put the cleats on,
Do the walkthrough,
Think to yourself,
Tonight’s up to you.
The whistles let loose,
Time to head inside,
Take a last look at the field,
And start to focus on tonight.
You’ll soon get padded up,
Take your sweet time,
Till your groups called out,
And then join the line.
The lights will shine,
You’ll stretch just a bit,
You’ll run through some plays,
And walk in to sit.
Take a drink…
Maybe look at your friend,
From seventh grade,
From the start to the end.
The random coaches come by,
And give a slap on the pads.
“Let’s do it. LET’S GO!
GATA! Get Mad!”
Some listen; Some don’t.
For some it’s not their style.
Some scream, some holler,
Others just chill for a while.
Then like BAM here he comes,
Coach Vance and his staff,
Says the same exact speech,
Before every first half.
You’ll listen a bit,
But you’ve heard it before,
Not much new for the seniors,
Yet the wait’s still a chore.
The calm before the thunder,
The rumbling deep inside,
The mix between anticipation,
And the pre-game jitters you try to hide.
Just minutes really,
That’s all the time you’ve got,
Before you go out,
And take the screw in cleat trot.
He’ll call for the prayer.
You’ll hold hands with your brothers.
You know its time -
A feeling like no other.
Walk outside,
and take a look around.
Listen to the buzz of fans
And all of Friday night’s sounds.
Gather up!
It’s the last first game.
You can’t play forever,
Don’t walk off with shame.
No more time left,
Your senior year is here.
No room left for doubt,
No thoughts mingled with fear.
Just strap it up,
And go make your stamp.
Give everything you’ve got,
And you WILL be champs.
Last but not least,
From this voice in your head,
Listen to this most of all,
If you heed anything said.
48 minutes to play
A lifetime to remember,
Make the memories be cold ones
As STATE CHAMPS in December!