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by Geno Author IconMail Icon
Rated: E · Poetry · Sports · #1178718
A simple poem for anyone who loves rugby league
GRAND FINAL DAY

The pigskin thumped with a leather clad foot
Into enemy territory flies
Hits the prop on the chest and he takes the first hit
Of the biggest game of their lives

Weeks and months of blood sweat and tears
Comes down to the next eighty minutes
The backs with their speed, the half back his wit
Forwards’ toughness all stretched to their limits

It’s the first set of six for a ten metre gain
Yeah, this is gonna be tough
Nowhere to hide or to rest for a bit
They wonder if they’ve trained well enough

The half back kicks long from inside the twenty
For the first loose and feed of the game
Fifteen out from the line sends his forwards to hit
Through defence that’s starting to wane

Tackle four said the ref and the half has a look
At a gap he could drive a truck through
He throws a short ball to his young number six
There’s an overlap three blokes to two

The centres are drawn the winger, he fears
He has to take one or the other
The five eighth cuts two, they’re accustomed to this
The long lateral goes to his brother

That deft sleight of hand split the back line in twain
The winger dives over the stripe
Four points to nil with a kick to make six
They can protest as much as they like

The home side kicks back there’s been action aplenty
This time a shallow restart
The prop on the ten looking for his try fix
Starts a bullocking run up the park

Still pumped and on fire from that last run he took
The prop is stopped dead in his tracks
The hooker runs in with his own bag of tricks
One more forward then out to the backs

A pass to the blind and the quick winger nears
The touch line with options cut short
He's gonna run out and so inside he flicks
A short pass to his running support

The tackle count’s up with the kicker restrained
Possession turned over-no scrum
The away captain says “boys, we can do this”
Now we’ll play to the beat of our drum

The contest grinds on now its fourteen to twenty
The home team's not doing so well
It would have been closer but the last goal kick missed
Now its oranges ‘cause of the bell

The away team kicks off; the home half has a look
At his side that he’s moving and shaking
The five eighth thinks quickly and grubbers a kick
For a try that’s there for the taking

He follows it up, the crowd claps, roars and cheers
Then on the bounce takes the pill running
Slides over the line right under the sticks
Well pleased with his foresight and cunning

The kicker steps back from the footy well aimed
At the posts his focus-the ball
The touchies hold up little flags upon sticks
The scores are now locked-twenty all

There it remained the tension ascending
The time was fast running out
The away captain yells “Lets just hold em for six”
And the simple demand spread about

With seconds to go they played by the book
The away team could see they could win
The crafty young half back had just one last trick
Mustered forwards to move the ball in

The siren went off amid deafening cheers
The half back called for the ball
He steadied himself for a long range drop kick
Straight through and the winner takes all

Straight as a die and that’s the game
The home team falls in a heap
Away fans, players and families mix
The home players wonder and weep

The final score ended up twenty-one twenty
To a roar and a deafening cheer
If the kicks were all straight, home team wins it by six
And don’t tell me there’s always next year
© Copyright 2006 Geno (charlie7 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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