There he stands; alone in thought, hidden in fear, confident all systems read go; they’d better be, it's game time.
Understand, this isn't just about sports or jocks in general, it's about you. Yes you: the wife or husband, the dead or soon to be; you the workers and leaches, you the fan yelling at the tube throwing bricks of criticism at will.
The TV shows the shiny suits, the cheering fans and the zillion dollar pay. Please be me, listen please, be open to what I say.
We never see the years nor pain or wars with parents standing in mud, mending hearts of disappointment last. We are blind to discouragements along the way: lonely nights, insecurities, sprains and aches and broken bones to name a few, practices in the dark, the hitch-hike home, the wake up calls in towns unknown, to catch a dream, to take a chance, not any different than your own.
So there they stand: in the ring or on the green, the mound, the ice or field that you see. Warriors they are, no matter their skill, they stand before you to be enjoyed not judged.
Please remember the biggest bricks are thrown by those who’ve never been. Enjoy your team, encourage those you see, win or lose, but most of all be a star yourself, be thankful for the fun.
To boo from afar is a sign, a sign to those who do, that you are perfect, without flaw with what you do. No need to worry, we won't boo.