Motivational Posters

Grebinger Gallery has a large selection of Framed Artwork with Motivational text.  Each image is available in a beautiful black frame and sells for $125.00.  Call our Gallery to order your framed Motivational poster.

Choose from the following sports, hobbies and occupations (listed alphabetically) …  Band Director, Baseball, Basketball, Coach, Father, Fireman, Football, Golf, Ice Hockey, Military, Mother, Policeman, Running, Soccer, Softball, Swimming, Teacher, Tennis, Volleyball, Weight Lifting, and Wrestling.  See a picture and read the text of each one below.

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Perfect gift for Band Director…

With a blasting of drums and a blaring of horns, the game begins. While the athletes of sport fervently hit the weights, review their plays, and run scrimmages, we, the catalysts of sound vigorously prepare for action by practicing scales, drilling arpeggios, and rehearsing formations. We offer our gift, our work, our talent freely, with no expectation of earning fame or even recognition but rather because we know the power of music is undeniable and inescapable, a timeless power that has been utilized for centuries to inspire teams and intimidate the opposition; an unstoppable power that smites exhaustion and energizes the spirit; a nurturing power that sings, “We’re with you! Don’t quit! Drive on!” We play our best so that those competing on the field or the court might realize their full potential. And while our passion also may lie in the mighty storm of a Beethoven symphony, the swinging freedom of a jazz solo, or the electric pulse of a rock concert, the pride and fellowship of the band marching on the field or playing in the stands is as definite as that of any team in its greatest moment of success. So, as the pipers and drummers once accompanied highland warriors onto sanguine battle fields, let us raise our beloved instruments and pierce the charged air with triumphant waves to rile the legion of fans and drive our team to one more yard, one more goal, one more victory.

Baseball

 

“When I step between the lines, I become a legend. With my head held high and hat to my chest, the words “Oh say! can you see,” remind me of what I am: A catalyst of tradition, striving to measure up to the heroes from past and present. Through countless hours of dedication and hard work, I live my dream. My heart is filled with true love for this game knowing I, too, could be one of the all-time greats. I exist solely to experience the senses that are unmistakable and sacred to “America’s Game.” The smell of freshly cut grass. The distinct sound of a ball meeting the bat. Sensations of holding the glove to my face as the sun warms the back of my neck. These are the immortal rewards in baseball. This passionate game has created who I am, a member of an elite group: The Boys of Summer. Then I hear those timeless words of “PLAY BALL!” which once again remind me game time has arrived. It has always been at this very moment, between these lines, that I become frozen in time, when I am pure! And now, as the sun paints another beautiful picture of our national pastime, my heart begins to question who the better player will be today. Who has worked harder? Who will be tougher? Who wants it more? No matter who this may be, the humbling game of baseball will neither care nor remember the next time we step between the lines.”

Basketball

“As I cross over the line from the outside world and set foot onto the hardwood of a basketball court, I transcend into a being that words cannot describe. No longer do I concern myself with worldly problems. Now I am in my domain, my Heaven here on Earth. With each stride that I take and every creak I hear in the floor, I embrace punishment, fearing someone else may be working harder than me. I notice the smell of pride in the air, and this excites me. The blood, sweat and tears from the agony of defeat and joy of sweet victory circulate a most unique essence like none other I have ever been able to find. Deep within my heart lies a security in knowing that not only has my pride contributed to this essence, but that the blood, sweat and tears of players past have contributed to it as well. And we must not forget the ones who taught us what pride really means. This is sacred to me, reminding me that I have given everything I ever had and put it all into the great game of basketball. I have given my heart and soul to this game. So whenever I leave my domain, I always take with me the anxiety and the yearning from deep within my soul that just can’t wait until my next return to heaven.”

Coach

“There are many different types of lines in sports: court lines, field lines, headlines, red and blue lines, box score lines, and finish lines. There are lines that people feed you, sometimes encouraging, sometimes degrading. Then there is the line that I implore them to “get on,” and there is never a question of what line I mean. For the athlete, there is something universal, scary, invigorating, and nostalgic about getting on the line, because though the line invites pain, from it, everything is possible. I tell them the line is the beginning of a journey — to potential greatness. I understand the athletes’ hunger, and my duty is to feed them. I refuse to press start on my stopwatch until all feet are on the line, and as one, they eventually learn how to embrace it. They will reach every line in pain, faces taut, thighs burning, emotions giving way to fatigue, then hardening into will; inevitable contempt transformed into drive channeled into a goal. And though they feel the anxious stomach pains every time they ponder the physical anguish associated with the line, I know that someday they will recognize the fine line between fear and commitment. They will come together in emotion associated with a common struggle for excellence that they wish would come easily but that I know does not. They will endure now in athletics and succeed later in the game of life because they willingly challenged themselves each time they stepped up to the line. Today, my players run because I tell them to, but tomorrow they will understand it was all for them, and will never forget a Coach’s words:  “Get on the line!”

Father

“My heart is filled with pride to call myself your child, as I have been blessed by the grace of God to love you, respect you, and honor you the way a Father like you deserves. I live life at peace with myself knowing that I will never look at myself in the mirror and regret one single thing about our relationship together. My remembrances of you: “From the inner core of my soul, I will forever hear and listen to your voice of wisdom calming me before my games, ‘Relax out there today, and let the game come to you.’ Understand, Father, that I have known for many years there could not possibly be a value placed on your wisdom you have shared with me, in life as well as with my athletics. Understand also that I have struggled for years with finding the proper words that might offer justice next to your name, my Father, or the one person who has unconditionally believed in me throughout. I will not go on another day without you knowing just how thankful I truly am for the person you are, have been, and always will be: My Father, the one who has helped me achieve all I have achieved on my journey through life. You have been and always will be a most influential figure that molded me into the person I know I want to be in life. Long ago, you shaped a small child into a young adult, and then over the years watched that young adult become someone I only pray you are proud of. Always know in your heart that I am one person who knows true fortune in life: Fortune that I was born unto you. So I would like to take this time to thank you Father for all life’s lessons you have passed onto me throughout the years. Thank you for teaching me the importance of a dream, and how without those dreams, full potentials are difficult to reach. Thank you for your sideline inspirations, as your presence at my games had an indescribable way of easing my anxieties that will forever dwell inside a grateful heart. But most importantly, I cherish this opportunity in thanking you for making every game that you could.” Give me the ball! This game is for my father.”

Fireman

“My profession is somewhat unique in comparison to that of the average person. At any one fixed moment in time when duty calls upon me, I am prepared to sacrifice my own life to save the lives of others I may not even know. I am willing to do this because I understand that we all make choices in life. As for myself, this is the choice and path of service that I have chosen to follow. Though my job is often rewarding, it can also be unsettling. I often reflect upon the simplicity of one question, “Who am I?” At times, I cannot provide this answer, not even for myself. So, “Who am I” to choose a profession in life that regularly shows no mercy for the preciousness of life? “Who am I” to willingly, without hesitation, invite myself into some of the most uninviting situations known to mankind? “Who am I”, so that when duty calls, may never again lay eyes on the loved ones I could leave behind? The assumed simplicity of this question is not so simple after all. Understanding “Who I am” may be difficult to answer at times. However, all I need to do is pause, think about, and remember those lives I have positively influenced and maybe even saved. All I need to do is look back on the years of service I have given to my community and realize that I helped make the world a safer place in which to live. In my heart, I know I made a difference. “Who am I?” I am a Firefighter!”

Fishing

There is no alarm more welcome than nature’s predawn call to me. “I’m going fishing”: a statement whose meaning is as special in childhood as it is later in life; it has been the subject of daydreams, transporting me to bygone days time and time again. It has become a lifelong calling, and my heart beat increases with mere thought of the twitch of line or ripple of water. Fishing begins the night before, when I methodically sort out my wares, make sandwiches, stock a stained tackle box or broken-in creel, and imagine the next morning, while secretly praying for good weather. In preparation there are little things — tying knots, checking the weight of line, sorting either freshly tied flies or my top five lures in standstill moments of dreamy recognition and nostalgia to be relived the next day. To cricket chirp and dewy grass I awake and creep to the water as if I’d sneak up on the fish. Interrupting the water, I cast, and I always love the smooth action of the day’s first cast. The bait’s gentle blip is a calming sound to me, and I see and hear everything: turtlehead shyly disappearing amid weed lines, geese patrolling shore in unison, blue heron in mid-hunt on one leg statue-still. Negotiating rocks or lily pads, searching for holes or fish-beds with eagle’s eyes, noticing a solitary ripple in the corner, I seek a worthy adversary and when I find him we are going to tango. And when the dance is over, I will recall a similar fish caught years before, thank him for the fight and go looking for his brother with the next cast.”

Football

“The warrior spirit reminds me that no one can stop me today: That this is my day. Hidden inside of me is a warrior who reacts on instinct waiting to be released. As I buckle my chinstrap, instinct consumes my body and mind, knowing that I have worked harder and prepared myself to conquer the man across from me. Life will no longer be the same. I will push myself to unbearable pain only to have that pain fade away each time the ball is snapped. Fatigue plays no favorites in football. It only fears those who have worked hard in the days before the game. I visualize myself making plays only champions could make. My heart races as the game is fast and bodies move in blurred motion. Blood and sweat bead off my body as the game goes on. My emotions take over, challenging my limits. It’s simple! The battlefield is made up of warriors that play an intense game based upon the elements of speed, strength and endurance. This game is a way of life, and it has taught me all that I know. After each battle, I lie physically exhausted, left only to ponder on the blessings from the battlefield.”

Golf

“There is a freedom to this game. I feel it during thoughts of long walks down long fairways. I feel it in cool morning air. I feel it in eager approach to the clubhouse. In the locker room, I lace up my shoes, for I am an athlete going to play a game; no worries, life will be waiting for me afterward. Striding toward the first tee on a heavenly day where I can see the outlines of the ranger’s tracks amid the morning dew, I look towards the fairway’s conclusion in the unyielding distance and welcome the elements — the mist and dew, the stillness of the air, the chirp of birds somewhere out there and the presence of friends: “Who has honors this day?” Here, there is no time on a scoreboard, and no screaming in my ears while I calculate my swings; here there is only this shot, and the next shot, and I can call in no substitute to take them. Playing a game that regularly humbles the greatest of pros, I cut through the air with my clubhead, and with several practice swings, I search for a rhythm that will allow for a straight shot off the first, a rhythm that will influence my psyche and all ensuing shots of the day. Familiar sounds: the whoosh of a driver’s swing; the unique tune of a high iron connecting; the perfect strike versus one caught thin or fat; whispered curses minutes after polite compliment; gentle putter tap; and that sacred, indefinable sound of ball and cup uniting. The prayers: just let me hit it straight this time; give me a healthy kick; please don’t let it be buried; and “Get in the hole!” They are all beloved parts to the whole of this sublime experience. As the dew dissipates and the greens harden, there are putts to be sunk and there is always the secret hope among participants. That this will be the day where the swing comes alive. The hope to hit a perfect shot when it matters. The hope to make this game, today, my masterpiece.

Ice Hockey

“My world exists in a place known only to those who have been here before. It is a place that allows me to escape the daily routine of life, to experience moments all my own, yet shared with others. My world exists on the ice, where I retain lifelong memories filled with the grandeur of battles past. It is here that life gives me opportunities to delve into a world only hockey players can appreciate. A world where anticipation is heavy with fear as I lace up my skates, knowing fate is in my hands with the stick that I taped. What would I do without this game in my life, or the place where dreams are made? What would I do without the dressing room, the smell of sweat-dried equipment, and the chatter of small talk as I prepare to go to war? What would I do without the cold crisp air burning my lungs as I skate hours on end, early mornings, late nights? What would I do without the travelling of great distances to take to the ice, or the sounds of pucks banging off battle-scarred boards? There is only one thing to do, and that would be to do it again, knowing that I wouldn’t change it for anything. You see, each time I put on my jersey, I take pride in the very crest that means I am part of something special: A group of athletes willing to sacrifice individual achievements for the ultimate goal.”

Military

“Soldiers know what a hero is. They watch them fall, they watch them continue in harm’s way, they see heroes stealthily moving in fluid unison towards uncertainty, with no uncertainty. They are the ones who never tell the world how they are changing themselves forever with every push, with every mile and hill, and with every bold promise of sunrise, because those exact a perspective unachievable by the common man. Their reality is to awaken with the knowledge that today is a day through which they may survive. And they must make all necessary preparations to do so. While the world goes about its business, soldiers go about business of a different kind, a kind they are not at liberty to evaluate in terms of right and wrong because their leaders will make those immortal decisions for them. But one thing is certain: There is a great place and it’s called home, and every home needs to be protected. Soldiers are holders of a more acute perspective than anyone else because of the stakes involved in their undertakings. Enlightened to life’s extreme flanks, soldiers know Hell yet pray to return because they have seen worse. But they also know when things don’t get any better. Such certainty is difficult for others to grasp unless they, too, have awakened to the trumpet’s blare, weapon’s crack, or worse. In competition, winning and losing on the playing surface are clearly definable. But on the surface of the earth, the great protectors measure winning and losing in more extreme units: In the lives of their countrymen, in the lives of the ones standing beside them, and in the lands of their home. And while it’s the unforgettable call of home that rings in soldiers’ ears throughout their service, there is a higher call that drives them perpetually forward during times of unthinkable circumstance. Although it offers itself to all, only a sacred few choose to hear, and answer, the call of duty.”

Mother

“Though I have not told you enough, I am telling you now. Through my eyes, this is the story of my love and appreciation thanking you for all you do and have done for me. Your sacrifices to make me a better person and athlete have never gone unrecognized. My remembrances of you: “I looked out the front window and saw you, alone, shopping bag cradled in your arms. In one hour, I will race out of the house to go to my game, and you will watch my departure as you always do, out the same front window. But not before you had warmed a plate for me, as I never left the house hungry. Yet I always left the house hungry. Hungry for the chance to compete another day. Hungry to be better than my opponent. Hungry to win this game. It is because you watch me out that window, because you pray for me as I walk down the street, because your sideline seats are never empty, and because I know there is no real strength in this world save for that which is instilled or inspired by you. Were you not here, I would not be complete. It is in these moments when I see you, Mother: When there is a home in this world I know, where the image of your beautiful smile in that window is once again etched inside a memory that will never forget. When I look in your eyes, I see that you understand the spirit inside me that needs to compete. So late at night, when I lie awake in bed, realizing your unconditional love for me as I hear your footsteps walking away from my bedroom door, I know I am not the sole host to a fighting heart. We fight together to survive, you and I, mother and child. You are the cornerstone holding this family together.” Give me the ball! This game is for my Mother.”

Policeman

“There are two words that when put together mean many different things to many different people. Two words that can put smiles on people’s faces or anxiety in their hearts. Two words that may strike hatred in some and love in others. Two words that are more than just words. They are a title, an occupation, and a career. Better yet, they are two words that describe a lifestyle. A lifestyle like no other for the men and women who choose to place a badge on their chest and promise to serve and protect. A lifestyle that may require that person to in a split second save someone’s life while risking their own. A lifestyle that requires that person to face good and bad every single day that others don’t see. A lifestyle that asks that person to wake up every morning without the assurance they will come home that night. Two words mean all that. Two words that should forever be remembered. Those two small words are Police Officer!”

Running

“I awaken to the world’s turn, the world’s run. The day before me lies bare outside my window, there for the running. There may be dew on the ground, there may be snow, there may be rain, or the ground may be dry. But I will find the trail, the path, the track or the road because none will come to me. To begin, I pain myself in routine stretch, where hamstring sting momentarily interrupts the butterflies in my helpless gut. I crave a run’s symphony: the whispered breeze a quick sprint brings, gravel or leaves crunching beneath striding feet, the dance-like tap of toes on concrete or track where hurdles and milestones are systematically conquered — how they mysteriously fade into dynamic sounds within: the heart’s rhythmic pound, the echo of cadenced breathing. I define distance using lines — lane lines, start and finish lines, the lines of roads and sidewalks and of beautiful horizon — how they blur while I methodically stride out and how they sharpen again when moist eyes blink hard near a run’s culmination. I confront unforgiving hills with vigor, and I embrace the inevitable exhaustion that follows. And before I outrun either time or opponent or the world’s turn, I remember that running smart supersedes running hard. I awaken to my own path: the path that allows burning feet to lay tracks. A path to one more hill. One more mile. One second faster. I awaken to the run outside, and each day I live the run within.”

Soccer

“As I walk to the field, I narrow my focus for the next ninety minutes on a common goal. This goal, victory, begins with the discipline and focus of the individual, but is attained through the organization and execution of the team. For the next ninety minutes, this team is my family. Two distinct uniforms separate us from them. As the ball is set down at midfield, I let my hand touch the pitch, marking the beginning of this land and aerial contest. Hours of labor sharpen my body and mind providing the formula for excellence: Spacing, ball control, and precision being the common denominators. The constant transition between attacking and defending creates seams only the most cohesive units capitalize on. This is a game where the sum of eleven individual efforts are combined into one, and no one person is more important than the other. I can excel only through a unit that works together as one, executing all I know about this game to give my team the best chance of winning in the next ninety minutes.”

Softball

“The count is 3 and 2 and someone is going to have to make a play. I want it to be me. The sport is called softball, but there is nothing soft about this ball. About players who play it. About coaches who swear by it. About the unforgiving infield dirt or the lush grass in the outfield. The batter’s box, the mound – all perfect cuts of a diamond that I don’t wear around my neck or in my ears. This, the softball diamond, is not a reflection of riches, but rather, this diamond enriches in many ways. The pop of the ball in leather and explosion off bat. In the raspberries after a gutsy slide, having just stretched a single into a double. And always, in the unspoken dialogue between batter and pitcher. Enrichment further comes with teammates, laughing about comparisons of underhand to overhand pitching, a comparison I do not dignify with argument. Two words: forty feet. Life on this diamond is about speed, sweat and infield dirt. It’s about exceeding perceived limits of training, realizing precision, then making the big play when it matters most. And then there is the count, which life will always present in various forms. But today, I must make this count part of my history, one that will reflect the courage and determination I have shown on the field and have injected into this game. I yearn for these days under the sun, striding out of a coil and into perfect connection with a screaming ball. In the end, win or lose, today and everyday I welcome 3 and 2. And because I am one who will always confront the possibility of failure while expecting the opposite, I know my teammates, my coaches, and our fans will always give me, a true ballplayer, what I have earned: A warm welcome home.”

Swimming

“I was born on the land, but am at home in the water. It is in the water when I have my purpose, where reliable habits and routines command my body. Conditioned by countless strokes, my arms and legs settle into a graceful rhythm. Kick, pull, kick, pull, and breathe. I have only one mind-set: To be faster than my opponents. As time passes and the water removes my senses, I concentrate on making my strokes stronger and more efficient. My mind focuses on practices I have already completed, and visualizes races I have yet to win. Pain consumes me, making me a prisoner of my own thoughts. With this pain, I cry out into the void where nobody can hear me. Still I swim. My resolve strengthens as my arms tighten and my legs throb unmercifully. A private war rages on as I swim, struggling to grasp a substance that cannot be grasped. Every breath a treasure to my burning lungs. I must battle my own body and mind as I push myself towards the end, knowing I alone will be responsible for my successes and failures. I alone, a swimmer beneath the surface.”

Teacher

“In the classroom on the first day of a new school year, I am eager to meet my students. I have rehearsed my greeting and first day’s remarks, but no matter how many years I’ve prepared for this procedure, it’s always new. My heart pumps a bit harder, faster; I feel adrenaline like an athlete, or like an actor, or maybe like a novice public speaker. It’s a marvelous feeling, this first day, because I know that something special is going to happen, and I know it because I’ve experienced it before and I know that I will experience it every time I meet a new class throughout my venerable career. And then they’re seated before me and I smile at this special feeling. This is an assembly of students, yes. But there’s so much more, because each of these young persons is more than just a student entrusted to me. Each of these students has a story to tell, a lifetime, however brief, of experiences, a history in volumes whose richness and depth I can barely begin to fathom. And so as I absorb the first glimpse of these young charges, I must appreciate the extent of my responsibility, of the privilege I’ve accepted in presenting these young souls my special knowledge. In offering them my talent and passion, I am adding an enormous array of new bright stars to the vast firmament of their minds, stars that will never have time to fade in their lifetimes. I will be part of their story. And I know that each of them will always be part of mine. And that’s a good feeling, a feeling that is perpetually renewed, revisited, and rewritten in a teacher’s creed.”

Tennis

“Time and again, tennis offers me the opportunity to excel past my mental and physical limits, achieving what I did not think was possible. This game defines the word competition, and I live for it. Every point of each match is a test. A test comparing my preparation and love for tennis to that of my opponents. I live for that opportunity to shake hands with my opponents after a match, looking into their eyes, exhausted, shirt soaked, dehydrated, and seeing defeat in their eyes. I live to hear the silent echo of an ace hitting the back fence. I live for tennis’ one-on-one challenges, and the sirens of this game that grow louder in my heart until I can play again. These are the reasons why I wake up for that early morning lesson, why I hit crosscourt passing shots until my hands blister, why I hit baskets of serves until my shoulder begs me to stop: And why I hit one more!”

Volleyball

“Looking through the net, the sound around me begins to fade. As the first whistle blows, my purpose in life is altered. My existence here on Earth is now being evaluated through a single struggle: Staying between the ball and the floor. Though a constant struggle, it is a struggle I love to win, and will win. I achieve this through stealing victories from a floor that doesn’t know limits to greed. In a game of anticipation and quick reactions, I cannot allow the ball to hit the floor. I drum up all of my will and energy to get to every ball, remembering that saving a ball is like keeping a dream alive. I push my body to reach as far as it can reach, jump as high as it can jump, dive as far as it can dive, reminding myself that this is a small price to pay for a game that has given me so much. And when my body hits the floor so the ball does not, I realize I have won the battle. As the last whistle blows and the game has ended, I glare back at the lonely ball, grateful that it will soon join me again in my dreams on the court.”

Weight Lifting

“Every athlete has an inner voice of pride. It is the voice only athletes can hear, pushing them to the brink of exhaustion, demanding excellence and condemning failure. Failure, understand, is the driving force behind an athlete. Every athlete has experienced failure, and now trains so they will not experience it again. This inner voice knows the difference between training and exercising. Many athletes exercise, stopping when they have reached a perceived limit, or when it becomes uncomfortable to continue. But only a select few athletes have the heart and desire to train unconditionally. Only a select few push past their physical and mental limits. Only a select few push past the pain and discomfort. Only a select few have the courage and the character to understand that training makes them quicker, faster, stronger, but most importantly, allows them to gain a mental edge over future opponents. So when failure laughs in my face as I desperately try and earn the respect of that last repetition, it must realize one thing: Each time I train, I not only hear, but I answer the inner voice.”

Wrestling

“Anxiousness. It is manifest in my heartbeat in the long hours and sacred silent minutes before every match. It stabs me like the pangs of hunger during fasts breeding discipline of body, strength of mind, and fortitude of soul. And it’s overcome when I introduce my opponent’s face to the mat, to its texture and smell; softened and intensified over the course of a thousand training sessions and through the absorption of gallons of human sweat. In the world’s oldest sport, all questions about fear and determination are addressed in the exact moments when in my opponent’s eyes I clearly read that knees – or heart – will fold. And they are answered beyond any shadow of doubt when I squeeze the lock and score a fall. I will not weaken, for the only way I can become a champion is to welcome and endure that which I fear most – the possibility of being beaten – by seasoned teammates one day, and by unknown foes in foreign gyms the next. After hours, days, and weeks of willing myself into the house of painful repetition, the bruises begin to fade. Quads burn less. Pain enters more slowly as body and mind are hardened, reconstructed, and refined. In the end, stepping out of the circle with arms raised in victory is not about outside obstacles, nameless opponents, or even the taste of my own blood. It’s about confronting my own pain, and through this, exceeding my own potential. It’s about transforming anxiousness into power. It’s about me. Family, coaches, teammates: I cherish their support. But on the mat, there are no kinships except with the mat itself. Here, I must be, more than anything, out for one.”