If the Cavs Win the NBA Title
The cool kids will say fuck Brooklyn you know
where it’s at? Cleveland. The potholes will fill
themselves. Clam chowder, cheesecake, pizza,
and hot dogs will all be served Cleveland style,
everywhere. Johnny Manziel will drink nothing
but orange juice. Whenever he’s not practicing
he’ll do nothing but whittle wooden toy trains
for underprivileged kids. Weekends we’ll watch
Tina Fey say LIVE FROM CLEVELAND,
IT’S SATURDAY NIGHT. The Indians will
replace Chief Wahoo with a rainbow. The steel
plants will roar back to life to fill the demand
for statues of Lebron. James. Graduation rates
at Cleveland City Schools will climb to 105%.
After the police sponsored whoopie-cushion-
for-handgun exchange program drops the homicide
rate to almost nothing, all the cop cars will be painted
pink and emblazoned with BLACK LIVES MATTER
or THIS IS WHAT A FEMINIST LOOKS LIKE.
On Halloween people will hand out full-time jobs
instead of candy. Tower City will get an Ikea and
the casino will become another art museum.
President Obama will retire, move to Cleveland
and coach the Browns to the AFC championship.
Paris will rename itself “New Cleveland.” Idealistic
southern kids will run away from home hitchhiking
with a sign that says “Cleveland or bust.” The city
will shine and the buildings will sing and the sun
will never set. It’ll only snow on Christmas. It’ll be
72 and sunny the rest of the year. If the Cavs
win the title, Cleveland will be unrecognizable.
Photo source: Bleacher Report
The Day After The Cavs Fired David Blatt
“Today was a good day.”—Ice Cube
He gets a text from his agent. It says
“Dave sent u a statement for media,
plz approve.” He replies “it’s good”
without reading it. He watches TV—
The Price is Right. He hasn’t done that
in years. The person wins both showcases.
David Blatt is happy for him. He has frozen
waffles for lunch but there’s no syrup so
he goes with peanut butter instead.
He does not remember buying
frozen waffles, but they are pretty good.
David Blatt can’t find one of his slippers.
It’s under the couch. That’s a relief.
He lets the dog out. He lets the dog back in.
He thinks about texting Lebron to see
if they’re still cool. He doesn’t remember
where he put his phone. He watches
the birds swarm the feeder and he’s thankful
for his wife or the cleaning lady or whoever
remembers to keep the bird feeder full.
He goes downstairs, still in his pajamas
at 4:15, to see if he can set up the ping pong
table to bounce the ball back to him. He cannot.
After twenty minutes of trying he goes upstairs.
After a nap he starts to read All the Light
We Cannot See. His wife has been talking
about it. He thinks it’s okay at least through
the first few pages. He orders a pizza.
He flips to channel five to watch the beginning
of the game. The Cavs go up 14-8 with 6:56
left in the first. He turns off the TV and sleeps
the sleep of peace for the first time since college.
Photo of David Blatt by Erik Drost
Enjoyed the poems. Suggest the religion that sports has become. America’s God is the ball in all its forms.