"We Once Wore the White and Black"
By Joseph Ridgway
Drained and depleted, bending over
gloved hands gripping knees —
resolute faces behind caged helmets
covered in mud and sweat.
Breathing deeply through
clenched and guarded teeth,
our time was now —
It had come to this.
No coaches allowed on the field,
but our hearts were enough.
We didn’t need words —
only each other.
The air was dead-still,
the crowd, hushed and distant, as
we felt the weight of family and fans —
waiting.
The whistle finally blew.
Clapping our hands in unison,
turning together to face our foe —
we broke our huddle.
Five decades later —
old men shaking hands, smiling, remembering —
moonlight softening the evidence of time —
an evening breeze carrying away our years.
gloved hands gripping knees —
resolute faces behind caged helmets
covered in mud and sweat.
Breathing deeply through
clenched and guarded teeth,
our time was now —
It had come to this.
No coaches allowed on the field,
but our hearts were enough.
We didn’t need words —
only each other.
The air was dead-still,
the crowd, hushed and distant, as
we felt the weight of family and fans —
waiting.
The whistle finally blew.
Clapping our hands in unison,
turning together to face our foe —
we broke our huddle.
Five decades later —
old men shaking hands, smiling, remembering —
moonlight softening the evidence of time —
an evening breeze carrying away our years.
Author’s Note:
In last month’s poetry choice, “A Taste of Dusk,” I drew inspiration from my 50th year (1966) high school’s class reunion. At that time, I promised I would share with you in an upcoming selection a poem also inspired by my class reunion. Well, why wait? We are still in graduation mode, so I thought I would share it now.
While growing up I played all the major sports until I entered high school when I decided to focus on football. I still swam competitively (like a stone) on a summer team, but I was just trying to stay in shape for football in the fall. Watching the faces of my teammates at the reunion, my mind kept superimposing the shadows of their helmet face guards. Hence, this poem was birthed.
There were times during our youth when we experienced the failure to reach our goals. Painful? Yes. However, we later learned how the perspective of time through the passing of many years could serve to open our eyes to the now realized attainment of more important and lasting goals. I hope this poem illustrates that principle.
This poem was initially published in “The Poeming Pigeon, A Literary Journal of Poetry,” in its 2019 Sports Anthology.
In last month’s poetry choice, “A Taste of Dusk,” I drew inspiration from my 50th year (1966) high school’s class reunion. At that time, I promised I would share with you in an upcoming selection a poem also inspired by my class reunion. Well, why wait? We are still in graduation mode, so I thought I would share it now.
While growing up I played all the major sports until I entered high school when I decided to focus on football. I still swam competitively (like a stone) on a summer team, but I was just trying to stay in shape for football in the fall. Watching the faces of my teammates at the reunion, my mind kept superimposing the shadows of their helmet face guards. Hence, this poem was birthed.
There were times during our youth when we experienced the failure to reach our goals. Painful? Yes. However, we later learned how the perspective of time through the passing of many years could serve to open our eyes to the now realized attainment of more important and lasting goals. I hope this poem illustrates that principle.
This poem was initially published in “The Poeming Pigeon, A Literary Journal of Poetry,” in its 2019 Sports Anthology.