I think that I shall never see
a satisfactory referee,
About whose head a halo shines,
Whose merits rate reporters' lines;
One who calls them as they are
And not as I should wish by far.
A gent who leans not either way
But lets the boys decide the play,
A guy who stings the coach who yaps
From Siwash High or Old Milsaps.
Now poems are made by fools like me,
BUT ONLY GOD COULD REFEREE.