Playing For Paychecks

We watch them on old videos

through grains of black and white

snow or a gaudy melting of colors

so aged that the players, style and

technology have all become relics

Their lives broken down to

a series of debates by studio men

pouring over stats and lumping

together accomplishments

forgetting they played for paychecks

Earning what little would become

their rent or next meal, clothing their

families, living in modest houses next door,

riding the train or bus to their next game

and still riding regardless of the outcome

Sweating a halftime beer in smoke

filled arenas or passing a cigarette

down the bench wondering which

stockyard or butcher shop would

employ them in the offseason

There were no analytics or trainers,

no dieticians molding their

every muscle, they didn’t talk

in the third person or care for

endorsements more than winning

They would drink at the local

watering hole and listen to the

fans critique them to their face

rather than argue and hide from

the safety of their phones

They wore suits to games and

rolled up their sleeves to work

now they limp through life with

crooked backs while their names

slowly disappear from record books