I played four years of basketball for Gilboa Central High

 Though surely not a super-star, I pretty much got by

By playing heavy “d” full court press and man to man

My speed and fundamentals made our coach one of my fans

Behind the back with passes, both hands could dribble well

But every time the game got tight, my shots would go to hell

But still I started every game and did outscore my man

But never really hit the “groove” like better players can

Walt Micha was our sixth man who worked hard to excel

Had all the fundamentals, a good “set” shot as well

He always played consistently if games were lost or won

He always was a real nice guy, gentle, kind and fun.

The home game that was next to last, I played my usual time

Then walked my girl friend to her bus, then I walked back to mine.

And then to be about as dumb as dumb young men can get

As I sauntered to my bus, I lit  a cigarette

And just before I climbed aboard I did my best James Dean

And toward the school, I snapped that butt, the flip was high and clean

The fiery sparks lit up the night, “Man”, I thought, “That’s neat!”

Until that cigarette hit down an inch from Coach Hub’s feet

Hub came storming to the bus: “I think you burned my pants.”

“You can’t play basketball and smoke.” “There is no second chance.”

“On Monday, turn your gear in, right now, you’re off the squad.”

So the last game of my senior year, Walt Micha got the nod.

In the bleachers with my girl, I watched the game ensue

As Walter threw up lots of shots and most of them went through

He played the game he knew he could, did everything just right

And most agreed was MVP in the last game on that night

And there I sat a spectator, my senior year’s last game

James Dean, the dark, and the evil weed were all I had to blame

And here’s a thought I can’t put down, no matter how I reason

If Walt had started in my place? We’d have had a better season….