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| The American Sportsman | |
 © The Swartzentruber Studio | all rights reserved |
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| Solid 220 pounds; and desperate. That's me. I tighten up the leather helmet to swing the hand- weights like a demon . Up. Down. Up. I've got to lose weight by using everything sporting. It's a nightmare yet I'm the cool American athlete, see? Retired. Me; the fat faced pumpkin. Now I'm driven by the gypsy's warning... I can see her face in my mind's eye..those dark eyes sparkling with evil intent . I'm sweating hard deciding between the sports news or reaching for the shaped rugby ball there between my feet. Keep going, I tell myself. Move those feet. Get new trainers. Again and again. Will I the ultimate American sporty win through. I hoped so. > I remember how the gypsy woman had pointed into the sky when I had answered the doorbell. She looked at me and then thrust flowers into my hand. I responded with money as I'm afraid of curses and the like. She cocked her head on an angle as she spoke. > ”My friend,for the money you've given me I'll do a deal this end. It's in the other world you need to worry about the flames each day. There terror things will gobble you up as true as today is day. > “You look old and fat. That's what's wrong with you. Better change your way of thinking, listen to music blue. Pick up the phone, call a friend, and see if your Mom is alive. Then take tips from her if you mean to survive.” > I knew my wobbly double chin, it's where I'd begin. First into stylish shorts and a check on the cricket score. Next a run around the block ,ten miles or more. I guess Exercise is the way for the American sportsman. Only it will make me slim and sleek . -Cleveland W. Gibson, (Author of Billabongo) Faringdon, Oxon, United Kingdom |
