Things Poetic

 The Greatest Sport Neither round ball, nor tennis ball nor red or white ball cricket Not even the kings sport, equine giants charging for a fence, sweat streaming behind its the emotional, exhausting, invigorating and painful oval ball game Rugby Union, not league albeit league drags the blood from lungs far quicker car crashes of bulk hitting each other serious assaults for 80 minutes blood, sweat, tears ... and tears through flesh laughter at the end, amongst the cheering and happiness drinking together laughing with each other brutal but gentlemen and women

 Scrum they spilled the ball, again  bloody backs OK, leave it to us forwards Hooker lifts arms int he air, stretching muscles, waiting.  Doing a sort of mating dance with the opposing hooker hookers both the lumps of the props lumber up and take their positions on either side, tightening binds, steam lifting up from the 6 men locks hold each other up, kneel and peek through between the props legs seeking the enemy...a few paces in front of them then the fly boys grab hold on either side and the back duck and charge tusste push hit grip hook and ....break, run, pass, tackle, lunge.....dive score

Poetry Standing in the line, watching the hue and cry, the fight for the ball, sweat, heat, grunting  shouting Whistle hovering on the face of the overweight ref, shakily held in his hand erupting from the chaos of bodies, moves haphazardly out of into my hands 2 people in front, and the line so its route 1 through both try satisfaction