Pretending to be Eli Manning During Schoolyard Football
As a young baseball fan,
When playing in the neighborhood or Pony Leagues,
My batting stance was often an imitation of Gary Sheffield’s;
I didn’t care if it angered coaches or caused my average to suffer,
I waggled my bat, back and forth, in the most violent of metronomes,
Like he did to hit over 500 home runs.
Playing backyard football,
It wasn’t as easy to imitate my favorite athletes;
I had much in common with Michael Vick on the playground,
Scrambling and black, but I wasn’t a lefty with a rocket arm,
His most distinctive feature besides his legs,
Which made the masquerade fall apart.
In hindsight, when out on the playground and in the schoolyard,
I may have imitated Eli Manning the most,
And it happened long before I saw
Every one of his touchdowns throws and Super Bowls
Living 90 minutes north of Gotham;
It happened before his first game in the big blue uniform.
It was for our overlapping lives:
His father ran the offense in college at Ole Miss,
And mine played his college ball down in the Delta.
My two brothers and I would be out on autumn Saturdays
Hitting each other under the guise of backyard football
As our mother shuddered watching from the window,
And I am sure his childhood weekends
Resembled days like those with his brothers…
***
Sundays During Football Season
I certainly do not and can not blame the minister,
This called and humble servant of the Lord who was set apart
To try and right the wrongs of the world for a few hours;
Or of the choir, singing a most potent sound during revival,
As the Spirit takes them to places that summon great tears
From grateful hearts. The traffic on the interstate is on my mind
Rather than where it should be, Paul’s letter to the Thessalonians,
And for that, I know that in this sacred space
Of stained glass, I am a sinner and should be here.
But I cannot help but to periodically sneak
To that little screen in my pocket, that small glowing window
To the fun, violent world out there—one where there are games at play.
This inner wrestling between the temptation
Of tackle and touchdown and testimony is as annual
As the autumn wind, or the grace of God,
But I do try to get better at it each year.
***
Matthew Johnson is the author of Shadow Folks and Soul Songs (Kelsay Books), Far from New York State (NYQ Press), and Too Short to Box with God (Finishing Line Press). His poetry has appeared/forthcoming in The African American Review, Heavy Feather Review, London Magazine, and others. He has received multiple Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominations, along with honors from the Hudson Valley Writers Center and Sundress Publications. Johnson is a finalist for the 2023 Diverse Book Award and serves as managing editor of The Portrait of New England and poetry editor for The Twin Bill. Website: www.matthewjohnsonpoetry.com.
