A tribute to a gold medal nation;
Lessons of Life from Team USA;
Grace is Free But Never Cheap

O Canada (revisited)
A tribute to a gold medal nation

O, Canada,
(my best friend’s native land)
your beauty beckons,
your nature calms
your Whistler’s haunting melodies
hypnotically inspire.

O, Canada, I salute you.
Your royal history
(do-right proud)
is saddled on a mount.
Your provinces
(quite rightly)
bow and curtsy to the Queen.

O, Canada, I thank you.
You gave me my wife
and her uncle gave a grateful nation
a heritage of Haida art
unhidden and unsurpassed.

You gave me my favorite fish and chippery,
a cuppa tea at four,
a game of sticks and puck on ice
There’s all that and much more.

You gave us Tim Horton
(his donuts and joe).
My northernmost neighbor,
I’m hoping you know
how much I value the shared border
that unites our two nations in peace.

O, Canada, from coast to coast
you give your people cause to boast.
You’re a country that won’t quit.

From Lake Louise to the St. Lawrence Seaway
from a port called Prince Rupert
to an island called Prince Edward.
From New Westminster to New Brunswick,
from Spanish Banks to Hudson’s Bay.

From the Rockies to the prairies
to the Great Lakes to the sea,
you’re really quite amazing, eh?
I love how you say “Z.”

* My wife Wendy was born in and (though raised by missionary parents in Mexico City) graduated from John Oliver High School in Vancouver. Her mum’s oldest sister was married to the legendary Haida carver and sculptor Bill Reid. Bill’s The Spirit of Haida Gwaii sculpture is prominently displayed at the Vancouver Airport and at the Canadian Embassy in Washington, D.C.  (Oh, and by the way, the best fish and chips anywhere is a little hole-in-the-wall mom-and-pop place. It’s called Barb’s near the Inner Harbor in Victoria!)

Lessons of Life from Team USA
What can we learn from Shaun and Lindsey?

That red-haired kid named White won gold
He’s witty, coy and brashly bold.
This half-pipe king’s not bored with snow.
I love his “joie de vivre.”

And what about that Lindsey Vonn?
We thought her hopes for gold were gone.
But she proved when you push through pain,
it’s downhill all the way.

The spirit of Team USA
inspires us to “find a way.”
When circumstances spell defeat,
let’s choose another word.

Within God’s Word we read the same.
How faith can fuel a dying flame.
It gives us eyes to focus on
what others cannot see.

“Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.” Hebrews 11:1 

Grace is Free But Never Cheap!
What are we to make of Tiger’s crocodile tears?

Mulligans aren’t for true players.
They are meant for me and you.
For professionals like Tiger,
mulligan means Irish stew.

But when he begs for forgiveness
for his infidelities
is he asking for a gimmie
from his fans and family?

Should we let him pick his ball up
or should he be forced to putt?
Should he wait in line to pay up
or are we to give him cuts?

If he’s starving for the status
that for month’s he’s been denied,
should we kill the fatted heifer
or let Tiger swallow pride?

Well, was Jesus only lyin’
when he said we must forgive
not just once or twice but always
when trust leaks as through a sieve?

No, he meant the words he uttered.
Yes, forgiveness is His call.
Maybe we should all remember
no one’s perfect… none at all.

All the same a trust once broken
by some fractured faith or tryst
will require time for healing
once the wrong has been confessed.

Grace is free but very costly.
There’s a price that must be paid.
Those forgiven can’t take lightly
those mistakes that they have made.

It’s what sports fans in Washington State are singing

The Mariners and Seahawks suck.
The Cougs and Huskies too.
Although our state is evergreen,
we fans are feeling blue.

The Sonics had no cause to boom
before they left this year.
There’s not much here in Washington
about which we can cheer.

And while it’s true there is a Storm
that saves us from real drought,
the dearth of wins from all our teams
has left us in a pout.

I’m praying Holmgren’s victory lap
won’t be a cruel joke.
If that should happen chances are
the twelfth man just might croak.

The rain and gray is bad enough.
We don’t need losing teams.
But playoff games and Rose Bowl bids
are only in our dreams.

O God, please end the hemorrhaging.
Reverse our rotten luck.
A miracle would sure be nice.
Without one, we’ll still suck.

Eulogizing one of the worst teams in major league history;
Batter Up

The Rhyme of the Basement Mariners
Eulogizing one of the worst teams in major league history.

One team is two disgusting
to describe in PG words.
Three outs may well end an inning,
but the bleeding’s undeterred.

Four balls let you walk to first base.
Putz will likely take the fifth.
Even Niehaus needs a six pack
to pretend the truth’s a myth.

Seventh inning stretches used to
be a time to celebrate.
But this year the game’s decided
before inning number eight.

While it’s true cats have nine chances
to bounce back before they die,
our team’s dead. They’re cellar dwellers.
With their payroll we ask WHY?

As they usually say at Wrigley,
“Just you wait until next year!”
But that seems too trite at Safeco.
We need major changes here.

• J. J. Putz is the Mariners’ erratic closer. Last year he was a hero with 40 saves. This year Putz has been anything but a hero.

** Dave Niehaus has been the Mariners’ play-by-play announcer since the team’s debut in the American League in 1977. This past summer he was inducted in the Major League Baseball Hall of Fame as one of the best baseball broadcasters of all time.

*** The 2008 Mariners are the first major league team with a payroll of over $100 million to lose at least 100 games in a season.

Batter Up
A creative alternative to presidential debates.

Forget debates. Let’s have a slug fest
in historic Fenway Park.
Who can clear the big Green Monster?
Grab a bat and eye the mark.

“Mick” McCain can’t reach the fences.
Something ’bout an injury.
Says he got it as a prisoner
standing up for liberty.

All the same he has the knowledge
how to loft a ball that far.
Having been around the bases,
he’s the only real all-star.

“Babe” Obama sure looks pretty
in his well-pressed baseball pants.
But he just stands there (bat on shoulder)
in his “Aren’t I handsome?” stance.

Neither one has home run power.
Still let’s watch them try to hit.
One will likely make SOME contact.
One will scratch and chew and spit.

No storybook ending for a storied stadium

“The House that Ruth Built” was a home
we baseball fans claimed as our own.
A place unequalled through the years
where memories were born.

Yes, Gehrig and DiMaggio
still haunt its hallways (don’t you know?)
as do The Mick and Maris too,
Don Larsen and the like.

You still hear Yogi Berra’s growl
or see old Casey Stengel’s scowl.
In this old house the past lived on.
It’s where we all grew up.

It was the Yankees’ pride and joy
where dreams came true for Autumn’s Boys.
“The House that Ruth Built” gave the Bronx
a place in history.

But now this mansion’s quarantined.
No games. No fans. No pinstriped team.
I wonder if this building knows
its address is Death Row?

Its horsehide balls will be replaced
by wrecking balls. A damned disgrace.
This condemnation that I dread
gives mem’ries cause to mourn.

I grieve the passing of a friend.
A chum I’ve known since I was ten.
A playmate every Saturday
on Dizzy Dean TV.