bob2the2nd
member 32
- Joined
- Apr 18, 2005
- Messages
- 23,031
- Reaction score
- 23,069
- Points
- 135
When I made the game 7 thread against the Pacers I picked out a poem, and realized it wasnt time for it. Then the cavs got to game 7 against the Celtics and again thought "Its not time". As I make this thread now, I once again feel as though "Its not time". So while some of you may feel as though this team has made its run, and there is nothing left. I respectively disagree. This team still still has a chance, this team despite everything that has been written about them, said about them, how they have been put down over and over again. Well quite frankly Im fucking sick of it. I believe in this team. So lets fucking go.
Somebody said that it couldn’t be done
But he with a chuckle replied
That “maybe it couldn’t,” but he would be one
Who wouldn’t say so till he’d tried.
So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin
On his face. If he worried he hid it.
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done, and he did it!
Somebody scoffed: “Oh, you’ll never do that;
At least no one ever has done it;”
But he took off his coat and he took off his hat
And the first thing we knew he’d begun it.
With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,
Without any doubting or quiddit,
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done, and he did it.
There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,
There are thousands to prophesy failure,
There are thousands to point out to you one by one,
The dangers that wait to assail you.
But just buckle in with a bit of a grin,
Just take off your coat and go to it;
Just start in to sing as you tackle the thing
That “cannot be done,” and you’ll do it.
It Couldnt Be Done
By Edgar Guest
Just for the warriors Ive picked out a special poem.
I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away."
Ozymandias Percy Bysshe Shelley
against
THESE MOTHERf$%#$S
These Stupid F@#%s
this alien looking F#$*
and the other 8 F!@#$ing billion people on this planet
So really when you think about it. Its pretty much
Cleveland Against the World
Somebody said that it couldn’t be done
But he with a chuckle replied
That “maybe it couldn’t,” but he would be one
Who wouldn’t say so till he’d tried.
So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin
On his face. If he worried he hid it.
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done, and he did it!
Somebody scoffed: “Oh, you’ll never do that;
At least no one ever has done it;”
But he took off his coat and he took off his hat
And the first thing we knew he’d begun it.
With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,
Without any doubting or quiddit,
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done, and he did it.
There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,
There are thousands to prophesy failure,
There are thousands to point out to you one by one,
The dangers that wait to assail you.
But just buckle in with a bit of a grin,
Just take off your coat and go to it;
Just start in to sing as you tackle the thing
That “cannot be done,” and you’ll do it.
It Couldnt Be Done
By Edgar Guest
Just for the warriors Ive picked out a special poem.
I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away."
Ozymandias Percy Bysshe Shelley
against
THESE MOTHERf$%#$S
These Stupid F@#%s
this alien looking F#$*
and the other 8 F!@#$ing billion people on this planet
So really when you think about it. Its pretty much
Cleveland Against the World