Tonight is the night I become a real man.
Just me and this hottie in my pimped-out van.
I can tell that she wants me. I’m a popular jock.
Still, I’m getting kind of nervous. Time to walk the walk.

How the hell did this happen to someone so cool?
These sudden thoughts of failure, of looking like a fool.
When I’m on the field, there’s no doubt, I’m a star.
But in matters of love, I’ve never gone this far.

OK, I have to think. What do I have to do?
I’ll be so embarrassed if she says “boooo….!”
I have to stay calm, to perform, to score.
Perhaps I should bang out some sports metaphors.

Shake her pom-poms, let her twirl the baton.
Watch her forehand play as I get a helmet on.
Work up to it slow. Don’t want a false start.
Like Picasso in a pool, each stroke a work of art.

She’ll send in the play, conveyed by a moan.
That’s the way a girl says, “Hey, I’m in the zone!”
And then it’s game on. We’ll put­­ on our game faces.
Ready for some winning, we’ll be off to the races.

Bang!!!

Gonna take it to the hole, dunk it down, finish strong!
Gonna go real deep, tell my girl to go long.
I’ll swing for the fences with my baseball bat.
Or at the very least, try to make contact.

Take it one play at a time. Keep my head in the game.
As long as I give effort, there’s no one to blame.
And even if I fumble, I know I will recover.
No substitute for passion if you’re a sports lover.

And by “sports,” I mean “sex.” That part should be clear.
With these analogies, there’s a lot less to fear.
So, now I know I’m ready, with reduced mental clutter.
With full confidence, I’ll deploy my putter.

Gotta execute the plan, make sure it ends well.
Not up for rope-a-dope if it’s after the bell.
Take my game a level higher, go from good to better.
To avoid overtime, beat the clock, one last header.

GOAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!