Dropping a Poetry Corner

Sinking through the archives for the forthcoming opening of the Fredorrarcian Library, I noticed some orphaned jottings that have never found a home in any of the nonsense blebbed out here- or otherabouts. To save them going horribly to waste, I present them here in the form of what might incorrectly be called a poem. It's an impressionistic impression of how a lot of the American sports media appears filtered through thousands of miles. Or it's an example of staring too long at something and seeing patterns that don't exist. Only God can judge me. By the way, the title nods Manicward. (Funnily enough, the US mix of that song is the better one...)

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Ifamericansportswritingstoppedusingthewordlegacyforonedayit'sworldwouldfallapart

even if you make it through
the selection committee speculation
a broad side of broadsides
impossible feats of athletic prowess
a pundit looking right down the camera
"Coach" for life
BRING BACK FRESHMAN INELIGIBILITY SAY BIG BAD MOTHERFUCKERS
quickness if not speed
Skip-To-My-Lobotomy Bayless
"I'll tell you the unwritten law, you dumb son of a bitch"
that video of the guy trying to finish an alleyoop 
      and getting his head wedged in between the rim and the backboard
the timeout in the age of anxiety
shaking off that brain damage
rivers of numerals
a bat flip
a bat-flip tut
a power rankings

you can't escape the grave:

what does that seventh overthrow mean for Peyton Manning's
legacy?
does this suspension destroy the nineteen-year-old sophomore's
legacy?
how does my scorching take on something LeBron said affect his
legacy?
I seem to have landed awkwardly and broken my
leg
      acy