Alumni Game (a sonnet)

“Old man, you run way too slow for me.
How can you play with the golden-haired young?
We have endurance; you can’t compete for long.
Give up, we’ll run circles ‘round you; you’ll see.”

“But we’ve got brains, you misguided punk.
We’ll zone you. You’ll miss those thirty footers.
And don't forget, your coach is one of our supporters.
Strategy outweighs brawn, dreams go kaplunk.”

It was war. There was blood on the floor.
There was a flagrant technical, elbows flew.
Pride outweighed sportsmanship. We had to win.

Blisters, floor burns; please God, no more.
Referees hanging from the hoops, a motley crew.
45-2, the oldies take it on the chin.                          Mystery Writer