ON A PROMISE
Tony Baws 2021
The team emerGes from the tunnel,
The trainers’ words still ringing in their ears
The noise of studded boots on concrete
Changes to the sound of stampIng hooves on grass
As fifteen sweating men run on the pitch.
Supporters rise to clap the heroes as they pass.
A cloud of embrocation rising from perspiring bodies
Mingles with the smell of beer and pipe-smoke in the stanD.
‘C’mon Sarries’ yells the boy, his little hands applauding.
At barely three yEars old a seasoned rugby fan,
Accustomed to the vagaries of this peculiar ‘ball’,
Which bounces here and ends up who knows where.
He concentrates intently at the kick-off
And keeps his bright blue eyes on the proceedings
For maybe ten or fifteen minutes till
The piercing shrill of whistle calls a scrum.
‘C’mon Sarries’ shouts his Dad
‘C’mon Sarries’ cries my sOn
Down the flank the home-side winger gallops past
And almost touches us.
Pursued in vain by gasping, grasping men
The winger slides the last few yards into the corner.
‘Try’ yells the crowd. ‘Try!’ shouts his Dad. ‘We’ve scored a try!’
The boy looks wistful in his bright red jump suit
‘Does that mean I caN get a burger now?
