Howay the lad
¶ 1
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It may be just a pre-season friendly,
he’s the wrong side of thirty; I still
get the same joy watching him play.
Diehard tackles, rampaging forward,
exhorting teammates, lusting for goals.
¶ 2
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I’m double his age, not in his league.
At half-time he’s subbed for a while.
Jack says at thirty-two he’s lost some pace,
matters more at centre-back
than in midfield: You just need stamina there.
¶ 3
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A year ago he moved up here,
outsider unsure of getting
in the local team. A year on
he’s given teaching the red card,
exhausted by rule changes,
¶ 4
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but still chosen by the manager.
I love the touchline accents,
the odd howay, lad. Afterwards
the players take down the goalposts
and, like fishermen, gather in the nets.
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