The Hurler Poem by Dean McInerney

A boy departs to the dressing room
And emerges as a man,
Ready to score some goals and points
As I look on as a fan.

The touches, the flicks,
The goals, the tricks, they strike me all with awe,
I feel as though I’m privileged
To have even saw.

The second he scores I’m filled with glee,
He is the hurler I strive to be.
For he is brave, unafraid of the ball,
No matter whether the carrier was big or small.

For he shrinks or grows
To their level,
He has the grace of an angel
And the speed of the devil.

In times of self-doubt
He finds inspiration,
Which leads to more goals
Which leads to elation.

I know that the pressure can take its toll,
This poems for you my dear cousin Noel,
Whether you score a hundred or you score none,
You’ll always be my number one.