Chapter 22: “The Sherrin” in Flight

After the bails have been lifted

As the pitch becomes covered in leaves

And wood smoke hangs still and hangs heavy

While the neighbours dust off their skis

A rising tide of excitement, envelops

A nation that has cause to unite

Just a few more days ‘till the opening round

And first sight of “The Sherrin” in flight.

Something is stirring down Punt Road

Cats begin purring down the bay

And far away, Lions wipe the sleep from their eyes

As Eagles start looking for prey

And a hush descends on the office

As tipsters consider their plight

For all that remains is the bounce of the ball

Then the sight of “The Sherrin” in flight.

Drivers chase pole at Monaco

Wimbledon’s in awe at an ace

While at Assen a bike gets it all out of shape

On the first bend in the race

And the teams make a breeze of the high Pyrenees

As Europe hosts sport through the night

But give me “The G” instead of TV

And the sight of “The Sherrin” in flight.

                                                                                                                                                   

There’s no logic at all to the passion

That makes people stand in the rain

Eat cold pies, limp chips and drink warm beer

And shouting, “What’s wrong with ya, ump?” seem OK

But one cannot describe the excitement

When your team gets up just in time

A mark, a quick handball, a snapshot

And a star is born to mankind.

And the kid at the park kicks the footy

While his mates sit at home with the cat

And his thoughts are on legends before him

And decides that’s where it’s all at

Climb high in the air on tall shoulders

Kick goals from the square out of sight

But he dreams of the day when they’ll say, “Let’s see the game

For the sight of that young champ in flight.”

And through the week things are rarely forgotten

As the media serves up a blitz

A barrage of scores, plays and statistics

And hypothesising over “what ifs”

But as the weekend slowly approaches

Ones thoughts are on putting things right

For there’s always a chance at the four points

With the sight of “The Sherrin” in flight.

Then the last weekend in September

A tradition as old as the sea

The loud shrill of the field umpire’s whistle

Heralds a mighty roar at “The G”

And all foes before are forgotten

As everyone’s cheers unite

For they know it’s the last time of the season

They’ll catch a sight of “The Sherrin” in flight.