Tuesday, November 23, 2010


We are all thankful for something. I, for example, am thankful for a job I love, an exceptionally supportive family, and all the many friends I have. Pretty much the usual. However, as an Australian, Thanksgiving does not mean a whole lot – the pilgrims never made it that far – but I am more than happy to take the day off. It seems the Squash Poet is also thankful for a few things, pretty much not the usual…

This is my favorite time of year
More than my birthday and Christmas cheer
Because without remorse and without stops
I can for hours on end stuff my chops
Sit on the couch without the nagging
And watch the football ‘til my eyeballs start sagging
Then in my gluttonous coma I begin to snore
And dream of all the things I am thankful for…

The Squash Poet

"Happy Thanksgiving"

I’m thankful for…
My physical trainer who has no concerns
To run my ass off till my lungs start to burn
Ignoring my pleas for the cruelty to stop
Forcing me to continue ‘til my heart almost stops
Calling me names when I snivel and blubber
Even when I can’t stand cause my legs turn to rubber
God only knows why you just didn’t quit
But thank you so much for making me fit!

I’m thankful for…
My nutritionist who didn’t gag at the sight
Of me waddling in, my width matching my height
For making me stop from stuffing my face
With all that good food that has wonderful taste
Changing it with all this stuff green and raw
Which is like eating cardboard and chewing on straw
But look at me now, I can call myself thin
And can run a bit further before hitting the tin!

I’m thankful for…
My wonderful squash pro with patience eternal
Working with me and my technique infernal
How he hasn’t run and jumped off a cliff
When he feeds me those balls and always I whiff
He must think I’m stupid, I forget constantly
That after every shot to get back to the ‘T’
But truth must be told, my game is quite healthy
(And he should thank me for making him wealthy!)

I’m thankful for…
My squash playing partners who laugh at my pain
As they run me around, they are inhumane
From corner to corner, with drops and with lobs
Until I dissolve into a quivering blob
But needing to win is of no consequence
(I keep telling myself, since I have no competence)
The reason I torture myself year after year
Is to play with my buddies and after drink a cold beer!

Happy Thanksgiving!

The Squash Poet

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