Yet another Rugby League poem |
A VIEW FROM THE SHEDS One by one the players arrive And sit down to watch the reserves They sit side by side with their girlfriends and wives With anticipation and nerves It’s only half time in the minor grade game The crowd claps them into the sheds Then after ten minutes there’s more of the same The first graders clear their heads The big boys move in to the now empty sheds To get ready for their shot at glory They move around slowly but not much is said They each have their own special story Today’s the Grand Final, there’s no Tuesday training The coach hasn’t much more to say It’s windy, it’s wet and of course it’s still raining But it’s far from the end of the day They pull on their socks with meticulous care Then take a short pause to reflect The odour of liniment hangs in the air And the nerves are not hard to detect Some blokes get rubbed and others bounce balls Some sit alone just to think Others get sleepy and some like to chat And some make good use of the sink With kick-off time looming the blokes come to life All at once they start moving about The jerseys are on, transformation complete And then the occasional shout Last minute ball work to get the eyes in Elbows and knees that need greasin’ Reputations and scrapbooks belong in the bin Along with the feats of the season The whistle blows time in the game just outside And one final pearl from the man Steel tags on cement match the steel in their eyes They’ll play hard as they possibly can The side as one unit runs onto the field Roused by the deafening roar Face to face with a side that won’t easily yield The winner will want the game more Who will taste vic’try and tall will they stand Having pushed themselves to their limits Who will wear smiles at the shake of a hand Time will tell in about eighty minutes |