Thursday afternoon, sports and recreation,
Get ’em out the classroom, young bodies gotta stay fit and active,
For some it’s a chance to blow off steam through healthy competition,
While others prefer to goof off for the final two periods,
Such was the case for a group ninth-graders, grappling and wrestling in the grass like they’re Stone Cold, Bill Goldberg and The Undertaker,
The year’s 1998 and pro wrestling was all the rage, boys will be boys and hormones be surging at that age,
Finally out the classroom, the aggression’s repressed for too long,
Male hormones crave physical competition, blame it on testosterone,
That fucking ‘hands-off’ rule, the bane of many play-fight sessions,
Settlin’ differences with fisticuffs will have ’em pushin’ for detention,
On this day the whole tribe’s locked in royal rumble but it’s all in good fun,
Covered in dirt, body slamming one another like they saw on television,
Got the teacher’s attention, there will be hell to pay,
Eschewed scolding and screaming in favor of mind games,
“Why are you guys wrestling? Don’t you know the rules? Hands-off policy, boys, quit acting like fools,”
“But it’s all fun, Sir, ain’t nobody hurt, no disputes here, that’s for the birds,”
“Perhaps you guys would like to perform in front of the whole school during the next assembly? Show them your moves and become instant celebrities?”
The proposal was fire, the boys were up for it, little knowing there was a rather big caveat,
“I want you boys to go home and start eating,” says Teach, “then rock up to school wearing nothing but your best briefs,”
“You guys will be SUMO wrestlers, are you still up for it?”
“Aw hell naw!” they all shout, “ok, ok, we’re done fighting,”
Satisfied with his mental victory, Teacher wonders off,
While the boys slink away for now, come the weekend the rematch is on.