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“There seems no rhyme ‘nor reason
Why, when part way through the season,
You’ve had all peaks – no troughs
But suddenly – the wheels fall off!
Whilst some will struggle through
(They say, “What good can coaching do?”)
The rest reach for the ‘phone
And cry, “I’m lost! – I must regain my form!”
(Who knows? What is to blame?
To our Game Gun, nothings changed-
Everything quite, “feels” the same.)
But an hour or two spent here
And all will become clear,
We’ll put the seat back in your pants
You’ll place that shot just where it counts.
As for those still struggling through?
Well, they’ll glance across at you,
It will appear, you’re hardly trying
You’ve regained that art – of shooting flying!”
Bob Valentine
© July 2004 |
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