I played from the time I was seven years old. My father was my first baseman coach. I had opportunities that I never really pursued - with some Miami teams and a few larger colleges, and then I ended up bailing and began cooking.
quote by Todd English
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Related quotes
In life it wasn't what you know, but who you know. I had people who were trying to buy teams and had they bought the teams, I would have gotten to coach because they wanted me to coach. But the people who have the teams hire their friends.
quote by Rick Barry
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All the colleges I played, most of the colleges, they were white.
quote by Jimmy Smith
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Miami
Words and music by bob seger
They saw the lights on the horizon
Out of the seas it came shinin
The buildings so high
They seemed to touch the sky
Miami, oh, miami
They felt the warm breezes blowing
From off the strange new ocean
They reached the end safe
It was a new day
Miami, oh, miami
Oh, it mustve seemed
Something from a dream
Shinin through the night
All those city lights
Staring at the shore
Hungry, tired and worn
Could it really be
Were they really free
And so they came
A hundred thousand
To find a way of life
They could believe in
Far away from home
With nothing of their own
To miami, oh miami
They saw the lights
Miami
song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Soccer world cup 2010
Soccer is the word on many lips
soccer world cup 2010
Joyous is the mood all
over the land
A first for a our small nation
flags to be hosted proudly
all over the land
White and black soccer balls
will be played over many fields
Some teams will win
some teams will loose
some teams will cry
some teams will be happy
Praise God Almighty
for this special occasion
a first for our small nation
in Jesus Name
poem by Allen Brodell
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I learned a lot in those first years in Miami, while struggling just for survival, by observing my father's fortitude.
quote by Desi Arnaz
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The Boys I Went To School With
We played football in the school yard and we swam in the Finnow
But the years go by so quickly and to father time we bow
And the boys I went to school with perhaps now looking gray
And many of them from the Homeland shore like me live far away.
Many of the boys I went to school with and that's going back more than four decades in time
Are now ageing grand fathers and years beyond their prime
And those legs that could move so quickly some forty years ago
Now feeling tired and heavy and their fastest pace is slow.
The boys I went to school with have known a better day
And that time takes care of everyone it would be fair to say
Our young years went too quickly and time just flitted by
And on looking back it seems like only yesterday when I was a school boy.
Some of the boys I went to school with to the grim reaper have gone
But life back in the old Hometown as usual carries on
And in the fields near Millstreet Town where the rank rushes grow
The Finnow on towards Drishane and the Blackwater flow.
Most of the boys I went to school with I have not seen for years
But for my fading memories I don't have any tears
We played football in the school yard and in Summer swam in the Finnow
But the years go by so quickly and to father time we bow.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Piano {Klavier}
They say to me
Open this door
curiosity screams
Whatever could it be
Back behind that door
A piano
The keys are all dusty
The strings are all untuned
Back behind that door
At the piano
But she plays no more
It so long ago
On the piano
She's who I hear
She began to play
She took my breath away
She said to me too
That I'll stay with you
But it just seemed to be
She played alone for me
I poured her blood
On the fire of my rage
I locked up her shrine
They questioned in time
At the piano
She's who I hear
She began to play
She took my breath away
At the piano
I stand by her
But it just seemed to be
She played alone for me
They opened up the door
And how they cried
I heard her mother plea
her father struck out at me
They tore her from her chair
No one believed me there
I was so insane
With the strech and the pain
At the piano
She's who I hear
She began to play
She took my breath away
At the piano
She's who I hear
As I began to play
I took her breath away
song performed by by Rammstein
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Seeing A Photograph
A photo of an ageing face stirs an old memory
He is plainly not a shadow of the man he used to be
His balding head is hoary gray his hair it was dark brown
When we played football as teenagers in the park in our Hometown.
He was a sprightly youth back then two years younger than I
On looking back the decades the years just seemed to fly
He played football worked in the fields and walked miles every day
But like me he seems the worst for wear the years have left us gray.
Perhaps we would be strangers now if by chance we did meet
We might not recognize each other in passing on the street
We age a little every day time of us all takes care
And leaves us looking in the end the very worst for wear.
A photograph of one I knew from many years ago
And he has aged as I have aged time on us all does show
We played football together when we were near to our life's prime
But in the end we all lose out to ageless father time.
poem by Francis Duggan
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My Friends Back In My Prime Years
My friends back in my prime years I never did disown
It's just that I live far from them and apart we have grown
We drank and played football together but our separate ways we've gone
And we have forged new friendships and life of course goes on.
My friends back in my prime years may now look a bit gray
And they might not know me or I might not know them if by chance we met today
In my memory they have remained young but in reality
The years have left their mark on them as the years have left their mark on me.
Old father time the aloof one to anyone doesn't bow
And some of my friends of my prime years may be grand parents now
Perhaps they now are showing their age and time has left them slow
They could run fast as I recall some twenty years ago.
My friends back in my prime years I may now not recognize
For time leaves it's mark on all of us I've come to realize
I drunk beer with them in the pub and with them played football
And that was many years ago as I can well recall.
poem by Francis Duggan
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There are many really good teams in our conference this season. Miami, Indiana and Detroit will be our fiercest opponents this year. But we just have to focus on our game and be patient with the realistic hope that we'll be on top after all is said and done.
quote by Jason Kidd
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Mr. Me
Once a boy named mister me bemoaned a great regret
I've floundered in the misty sea, but can't abide its mystery
I wound up sad, you bet
So onward go and edward ho into the bounding main
Enjoy the show look out below but mind the misty sea
Or end up sad like mister me
He ended up sad
He ended up sad
He ended up really, really, really sad
He ended up sad
He ended up sad
He ended up really, really, really sad
So take the hand of mister me and mister, make him glad
To swim the mister misty sea and cease the mister mystery
That mister, made him sad
He ended up sad
He ended up sad
He ended up really, really, really sad
He ended up sad
He ended up sad
He ended up really, really, really sad
He ended up sad
He ended up sad
He ended up really, really, really sad
He ended up sad
He ended up sad
He ended up really, really, really sad
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
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But this is Miami, you can't come to Miami and not show any skin. You gotta show something. If you're all covered up in this heat, you're gonna make me pass out out just to look at you. It's sweaty in Miami-but the diamonds will keep me cool.
Rowing Your Way
He sat under a palm tree
serenading his lady fair
when a coconut dropped on his head
and he sat with a blank stare there.
She whispered sweet words of nothing,
but he couldn’t hear a thing
only somewhere in the distance
he head a cuckoo sing.
She garland him with pansies
and he looked a proper prat,
then a big bird came along
and deposited something on his hat
and as it run down on his chin
he thought his lady fair
had given a gooey kiss to him.
Then he opened up his eyes
and much to his surprise
he found himself in a cooking pot
and his lady fair was cooking him.
The vegetables floated on the water,
which was getting hotter.
Oh my, oh my, he shouted
and jumped out of the pot
and into the fire.
He legged it as fast as he could
smelling the smoke of his shoes on fire.
The natives took to hot pursuit
as along the sand he ran.
Wanting to dive in the water
but the dorsal fins of sharks
looking for a tasty bite
made him think twice as he flee.
Now he was in a pondery of which way to go
caught between the cooking pot and the deep blue sea.
Then he saw his route to escape
someone had left a dingy
up there on the beach.
Pushing it into the water
he began to paddle like mad,
but the dingy had a hole in it
and right then he wished he could fly.
With one hand bailing
and one hand rowing,
he struggled on.
If he could reach the nearby by island
he figured he would be safe.
The natives from where he came
lit a fire and with smoke signals
told their brothers that dinner
would soon be rowing your way.
poem by David Harris
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Father, Can you see me?
Can You See Me Father?
Father, can you see me?
Father, can you help me through this night?
Father, are you with me?
I look up at the sky, and wonder why, I feel so alone now...
Father, will you help me?
Im afraid to close my eyes.
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, if I sleep now, will you be watching over me this night?
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, the world I see is so much larger, than I remember when you were here with me.
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, can you help me stand own my own two feet once more?
Father, Im on my knees, looking at the sky, looking for your eyes.
Father, I've lost my way, Lord, I pray for your guidance once more.
Father, what was your will, Lord, it was not mine.
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, as I pray for your will, please come and show me the way, dear Lord I pray.
Amen
poem by Rose Rosado
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MaMa's Cooking
Thinking of times I would say what's cooking everyday
It's an assortment of goodie things
Chocolate, pies and banana pudding
Enough food and that's Mama's cooking
Thinking of times I would say what's cooking everyday
Apron in hand and lasting impression I didn't want to miss
Everything seem perfect from beginning to end
Enough food and that's Mama's Cooking
Thinking of times I would say what's cooking everyday
Smiling faces and a gentle speech of o.k.
Noone knows how much the void I can't fill
Enough food and that Mama's Cooking
Thinking of times I would say what's cooking everyday
Being polite and sincere would carry the weight
Seemingly enough she has the greater plan
Enough food and that Mama's Cooking ahead
Thinking of times I would say what's cooking everyday
The napkins, plates and never-ending why didn't it last
Noone knows how much the void I can't fill
Enough food and that's Mama's Cooking again
Thinking of times I would say what's cooking everyday
Craving for the turkey and dressing pan
Not to admit, seemed a bit much
Enough Food and that's Mama's Cooking again
So nowadays, I look for the needle in the haystack
Wishing on the times, she would come back
It's been 10 years, since I said thoughs word's
Enough food and that Mama's blessing for us
Missing mom everyday becomes second-nature for me
Enough food, Enough love and One day she'll see
For know I'll take her spirits with me and others will speak
Enough food, Enough love and One day she'll see
poem by Natasha McGee
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The Dead Coach
At night when sick folk wakeful lie,
I heard the dead coach passing by,
And heard it passing wild and fleet,
And knew my time was come not yet.
Click-clack, click-clack, the hoofs went past,
Who takes the dead coach travels fast,
On and away through the wild night,
The dead must rest ere morning light.
If one might follow on its track
The coach and horses, midnight black,
Within should sit a shape of doom
That beckons one and all to come.
God pity them to-night who wait
To hear the dead coach at their gate,
And him who hears, though sense be dim,
The mournful dead coach stop for him.
He shall go down with a still face,
And mount the steps and take his place,
The door be shut, the order said!
How fast the pace is with the dead!
Click-clack, click-clack, the hour is chill,
The dead coach climbs the distant hill.
Now, God, the Father of us all,
Wipe Thou the widow’s tears that fall!
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Stage Love
WHEN the game began between them for a jest,
He played king and she played queen to match the best;
Laughter soft as tears, and tears that turned to laughter,
These were things she sought for years and sorrowed after.
Pleasure with dry lips, and pain that walks by night;
All the sting and all the stain of long delight;
These were things she knew not of, that knew not of her,
When she played at half a love with half a lover.
Time was chorus, gave them cues to laugh or cry;
They would kill, befool, amuse him, let him die;
Set him webs to weave to-day and break to-morrow,
Till he died for good in play, and rose in sorrow.
What the years mean; how time dies and is not slain;
How love grows and laughs and cries and wanes again;
These were things she came to know, and take their measure,
When the play was played out so for one man’s pleasure.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Let It Breathe
Could we do it again
If he asked how it felt
And I didnt say this time
You tried to scare me with empty thoughts
That means not a thing
cause Im down behind you
Could we swing it again
If I changed how he looked
And turned to the right to bend
You live with something that I cant explain
But your face cracks a smile when you see it shining
You feel things in your own way
And Im supposed to lay down and bow to you
Im tired of bailing hay for something that I cant see
I dont want to be you
You dont want to be me.
Just let it breathe
If the moon goes up tomorrow and Im down on a farm
And you dont believe whose writing with me
Keep your hands to yourself
Keep your mind to yourself
Keep your breath to yourself
Let me float on by you
You see things in your own way
And Im supposed to lay down and bow to you
Im tired of bailing hay for something that I cant see
You dont want to be me
I dont want to be you
Its so very necessary
Its so delectable to see a stone
Its so impossible to find a reason
When youre standing there
Watching me now
Could we live it again
If we dressed just the same
And held on to lovers when
We couldnt really live with anyone
See mostly ourselves so just go on lying
You feel things in your own way
And Im supposed to lay down and bow to you
Im tired of bailing hay for someone that I cant see
I dont want to be you
You dont want to be me
Just let it breathe
Let it breathe
song performed by by Hootie & The Blowfish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Way I Treated Father [A Bush Song]
I WORKED with father in the bush
At splitting rails and palings.
He never was unkind to me,
Although he “had his failings:”
And now his grave is old and green,
And now at times I’m rather
Inclined to think ’twas very mean
The way I treated father.
The mother had for years been dead,
And Dad and I and Stumpy
Were living in a little shed—
What bushmen call a humpy;
And now I think when day began,
And it was cold and chilly,
’Twas mean to see a grey old man
Get up and boil the billy.
And though my lazy limbs were stiff;
And though ’twas winter weather.
And though my eyes were shut as if
The lids were glued together,
I think ’twas mean to lie in bed;
I think that I was silly,
Because I growled if father said,
“Git up and bile the billy!”
I didn’t help the cooking much
For I was always “tired”—
’Twas strange that I could eat with such
An appetite as I had;
But now I mind I never growled
When father shouted, “Willie!
It’s gittin’ on for dinnertime;
Go home and bile the hilly.”
His grave is growing old and green
And things have altered rather;
But still I think ’twas mighty mean
The way I treated father.
He left a tidy sum to me,
But I’d give all the money
To hear him say, “Will you get up
And bile the billy, Sonny?”
poem by Henry Lawson
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Through Paris 1970
As you rode through Paris
in the packed coach
the radio played
Beethoven's Piano Concerto #5
and Mamie
sat beside you
her head to one side
sleeping
her mouth open
like some fish
out of water
her hands tucked
between her thighs
her blue skirt
riding high
and the slow movement
of the Beethoven piece
began
the piano playing softy
as the bright lights
of Paris
lit up
the dull space
inside the coach
and you closed your eyes
laying a hand
surreptiously
over hers
hearing the piano
and orchestra
as if in a dream
and Mamie
never minded
your hand
on hers
or so you thought then
and as now
it would seem.
poem by Terry Collett
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