Holding my father's gold football
He had lettered in three sports
When I rode the bench three years
Still he expected me to do his same

More boys in my 1958 school
Than his entire 1928 league
Alone at night I shed my tears
Senior year I quit in shame

In the army I lettered with jump wings
He asked if you can do trooper stuff
Why hadn't I played ball that last fall
Sports were so important in small town things
Where school sports and a job was enough
Or about grand kids ended many a call

Now I am old, alone, with no kids or letter
Beyond his last years I still feel the shame