Sunday League 1
¶ 1
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Acrid smell of liniment
From an overcrowded changing room.
Shouts of bravado,
Voices raised in welcome.
¶ 2
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Knee brace fitted onto ageing body,
body rub applied;
Bows tightened
On mouldy, mud-spattered boots.
¶ 3
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The run onto the exposed field,
Arms flailing, legs pumping.
Litter chasing across the pitted surface,
Leaves skittering across the pitch.
¶ 4
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The warm-ups begin.
Hamstrings protesting painfully,
Every stretch an effort,
But worth it?
¶ 5
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Sizing up the opposition:
Bunch of neanderthals
And overweight orangutans,
Chewing manically and screaming expletives.
¶ 6
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The ref arrives, a mere boy,
Face writhing in acne.
Pristine black regalia
Covering his puny frame.
¶ 7
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The toss up:
The two captains eye each other malevolently
As the coin spins
“Heads! Stay as we are.”
¶ 8
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Final tactical teamtalk,
Confirmation of positions.
Seven changes from last week,
Introductions forgotten on the spot.
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