It’s not the win, it’s not the crowds,
It’s not riches or the fame;
He runs for hours in the sun
Because he loves the game
The sound of his own breathing all —
The sand, the water, and the ball —
Opponents, only in his mind,
He’ll feint and dodge and leave behind
You’ll never see him on a pitch,
Wear jerseys blazoned with his name —
But still he’s out there, running still,
Because he loves the game
To share is human:
