Onward, forward, into the tournaments they roar
The brackets are assembled, they number sixty four.
Long shot, sure-thing, a classic thoroughbred
Daydream, big scheme, now sited head to head.
Fans chant, bands blare, crowded bleachers groan
Coach’s chart, player’s shot, little is left unknown.
Whistles blow, men jump, ball is in the air
End to end the playing goes and I sit in my chair.