At Seventeen
by Biff
At Seventeen
(To the tune by Janis Ian of the same name)
You don't know the truth at seventeen.
You think the game is to be seen,
by college coaches with compliments,
on teams that are so prominent.
The parties that you never knew,
the summer days and nights of youth,
were spent on courts of tar or wood.
At seventeen, you don't know the truth.
And there you sit, ACL just torn,
you cannot play and now you're scorned.
You desperately remain at home,
hoping recruiters use the phone,
to call and say "come play for me",
and murmur some vague pleasantries.
It isn't all it seems, at seventeen.
In Nikes given as hand me downs,
you played to spread your name around.
You believed if you played with vim and verve,
that you would get what you deserved.
But the prep school star with C's and D's
Seems to always get just what she needs.
A full scholarship she's guaranteed,
while you ice away your swollen knee.
Remember, those who win this game,
may not deserve what they have gained,
living a life of less quality,
and dubious integrity.
You fear big time coaches who gaped at you,
may turn their back now that payments due.
It's just a blurry dream, at seventeen.
For those of you who've felt the pain,
of scholarships that never came,
and for those who's names were never called,
when choosing sides for basketball.
It seems long ago and far away,
the world was younger than today.
Now dreams are all they give for free,
and a player is all you want to be.
You played the game and now you dare,
to try to find one coach who'll care,
and call you up on the phone,
to join her school, some name unknown.
They'll call and say "come play for me",
and murmur some vague pleasantries.
How trying it can be, at seventeen.