The pitch is marked, the flags unfurled
For the greatest game in the world.
A shove of war, two tons or more
Of men intent on a winning score.
One ball emerging from two packs
Awaited by expectant backs,
Attacking line as one advance
Opponents in defensive stance,
From hand to hand with lightning speed
All play as one, no place for greed.
The ball's in touch, forwards lineout
The hooker gives his coded shout
One jumps, and in the air he hangs
Supported there by team mates' hands
The unique ball flies straight and true
Right to the hands it was meant to.
He drops enveloped by a human wall
The centre of a rolling maul,
A skilful boot sends the ball high
Touch judge flags point to the sky....
Men with hearts of solid oak
Antipodean ambitions revoke
Esra Sloblock
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mud-sweat-and-beers/
