Go Oz
Every runner has a reason
Why he’s in the race
And each makes the decision
Of attire, gear and pace.
I stood out in the freezing cold
And watched them dash on by,
United by a goal, yet
Most unique in how they’d try.
Across the street, I saw some signs –
“Go Oz!” in big bold print
So Oz (whoever he might be)
Would catch it on his sprint.
Then suddenly a roar rang out
And it was what I guessed;
A shirtless runner came in view
With OZ spelled on his chest.
He loped along with arms aloft,
His face a beaming grin
As if, by seeing all his friends,
He’d gone and snared a win.
His finish time’s a mystery
But surely such support
Helped both Oz and all the racers
In the spirit of the sport.
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