Metaphor-generating machine.

In Summerland, which is a pretty charming young adult novel by Michael Chabon, a character says this:

A baseball game is nothing but a great slow contraption for getting you to pay attention to the cadence of a summer day.

That seems pretty good, as a metaphor, to me--even though I'm not mad for baseball.

So, if a baseball game is "nothing but a great slow &c.," then what is a soccer game? a basketball game? a football game? a tennis match?

Sportos, I'm asking you. I do have a poem about soccer, but it's more of a mom poem than a player poem. So I need your help. My imaginative world depends on it.

Updates: I wrote a poem today. Here was my process:

1. got up late.
2. ate breakfast while assiduously checking out the internets.
3. lay back down for some cozy reading of novel.
4. joined by dog for cozy reading.
5. fell asleep for a few minutes.
6. woke up to sun in the window and absolute stillness, which crystallized into a frieze of imagery and phrases.

Yeah, I'm doing fine.

My neighbor plays tuneless, bass-heavy techno, every single night now for about ten days. Nice guy, but why?

Off to finish my baseball reverie. The world hangs in the balance. No, seriously. Chabon is surprisingly cosmological in this novel.