For four long years I've washed this suit, and goodness knows, what a chore!
I've seen the grass, the blood, the dirt, the stains and grime galore.
I've held it very gingerly, then dropped it in the wash,
While thinking, "Next week, wash again, O Gee, O Lord, O Gosh!"
I've opened all the windows as I've squirted on the Shout;
I've breathed the fumes that clogged my lungs, of that I have no doubt.
The fortune on detergent, the time I've spent--I shudder.
For four long years I've washed this "suit," you can call me "Mudder."
But today I wash this uniform for perhaps the final time;
After all those years of drudgery, I failed to see the grime.
I saw the boy who wore it with such pride and dignity,
And suddenly the football suit looked beautiful to me.
I saw the dedication of my young man to the team;
His pride to wear the uniform, to play the game and dream.
I felt the tingling of the game, the tumult at the end,
The heart, the spunk, the cheer and pat of every loyal friend.
The character and goodness that this uniform helped grow,
And the precious boy who wore it, so special I can glow.
If I had one wish for certain, the one I would adore,
Would be to wash this uniform for four years more.