Rugby Football Hero Poem by Gert Strydom

Drive men, drive!
Get the freaking ball!
That’s it, now go.
Fling it, throw the damned thing!

From the reserve bench
the game is rushing by
and both flanks, the centre, the lock
almost every member of the team
are taking huge knocks and still
nobody is really getting hurt.

A dropp goal soars through the poles,
followed by a brilliant try
and the crowd are standing, are cheering
when the confirmation kick
is delivered securely.

The opponents are really angry,
starts to play dirty,
with reckless foal play,
high tackling
and gets a penalty kick
that is on the mark

and then the lock is hurt,
trampled under boots
and the manager
points to me
and while the crowd cheers
I run on to the field.

The whistle blows
and in full pace I run in line
catching the ball that is flung to me
and the game is on,
the crowd roars while I sidestep
two tackles and see the line

and every thing is blurring
and time is fragmented
into splits of seconds
and I am flying at speed
trying to touch down.