A VIEW FROM THE SHEDS

A VIEW FROM THE SHEDS

One by one the players arrive
And sit down to watch the reserves
They sit side by side with their girlfriends and wives
With anticipation and nerves

It’s only half time in the minor grade game
The crowd claps them into the sheds
Then after ten minutes there’s more of the same
The first graders clear their heads

The big boys move in to the now empty sheds
To get ready for their shot at glory
They move around slowly but not much is said
They each have their own special story

Today’s the Grand Final, there’s no Tuesday training
The coach hasn’t much more to say
It’s windy, it’s wet and of course it’s still raining
But it’s far from the end of the day

They pull on their socks with meticulous care
Then take a short pause to reflect
The odour of liniment hangs in the air
And the nerves are not hard to detect

Some blokes get rubbed and others bounce balls
Some sit alone just to think
Others get sleepy and some like to chat
And some make good use of the sink

With kick-off time looming the blokes come to life
All at once they start moving about
The jerseys are on, transformation complete
And then the occasional shout

Last minute ball work to get the eyes in
Elbows and knees that need greasin’
Reputations and scrapbooks belong in the bin
Along with the feats of the season

The whistle blows time in the game just outside
And one final pearl from the man
Steel tags on cement match the steel in their eyes
They’ll play hard as they possibly can

The side as one unit runs onto the field
Roused by the deafening roar
Face to face with a side that won’t easily yield
The winner will want the game more

Who will taste vic’try and tall will they stand
Having pushed themselves to their limits
Who will wear smiles at the shake of a hand
Time will tell in about eighty minutes