If you have a poem, song lyrics or a short story and you would like to share it with the readers of The Statesman now is your chance. Email or mail us your submission and look for it in an upcoming issue of The Statesman.

MY ATHLETE FRIENDS

Jim Thorpe was the first great athlete I knew. To match his talents through the years, only a few. He was an American Indian who could run like the wind. What the Olympic Committee did to him was a sin. Babe Ruth put baseball on the map as a New York Yankee. He could hit a baseball farther than one could see. He was known throughout the world as a practical joker. Babe would drink some suds, eat 12 hotdogs and play some poker. The Olympics were held in Germany in the year of 1936. A Nazi by the name of Hitler thought he had it fixed. An American named Jesse Owens won four gold medals on that date; That was the first error that Hitler made about the United States. Bob Petit was the first great basketball player I saw. He played for St. Louis and he could do everything with a basketball. Larry Bird was my favorite basketball player of all time. He always played his best and had the heart of a lion. Don Meridith played football for SMU and the Cowboys of Dallas. That was before Jerry Jones constructed his ivory towers. Meridith was a great quarterback with a bad squad it seemed. Later, he, Frank Gifford and Howard Cossell made a broadcast team. Johnny Unitas of the Baltimore Colts was absolutely great. On Roger Staubach, another Cowboy, you could bet the stake. Michael Jordan, a Chicago Bull, was the best basketball player ever. Bob Lilly was a monster tackle who would never give up, never. I would be amiss if I did not mention my favorite athletes of all time. They would be my grandkids, `Em and Zack and Will and Lauren. All of them have a special talent that is second to none. Of all the great athletes I've seen, these are my favorite ones. by Dwayne Garner

JUST ANOTHER PRIVATE

Here I am a Private Working for Uncle Sam. I'm in the Guardhouse for a week, But I don't really care. I was doing K.P. Peeling taters all day long. I heaved one out the window, Now I know `twas wrong. I hit the Sergeant on the beak; Lordy, how he did roar, He raved and cussed like all get-out, But that was once I scored. He slapped me in the Guardhouse For seven days and nights. I really don't care now, For I laughed with all my might. by Thomas L. Howard