You soccer players are true royalty,

positioned on elaborate white-lined fields

reserved for the eleven chosen

while high socks and strategic formations

justify your right to noble wars abroad, and later

to distribute your highlights, proof that you’re the real athletes.

Like peasants, we share the rough, unforgiving land;

like prisoners, your punishment is our call-to-arms

but Running is combat closest to home, why seek new enemies

when we have ourselves to conquer? When the pain is near,

we welcome it with lustful embrace. Ball-kicking glory is tempting

but self-sacrifice is rare in this world. So, as you call us self-loathing,

I hope you remember that, in our battles,

we have no benchwarmers.