Poem -

Live to fight

Live to fight

Feet, coloured yellow –
Move at speed –
Shades of green adorn the ground.
Billboards changing –
Take your seats –
We’re bouncing in the round.

Seagulls
Take up residence
And coach on high alert.
Dropping veterans
For youth to build –
Fans think it will subvert

What once was strong,
Like Coventry –
He was primed
To out-perform.

Ah, the good old days,
They held it high
But now, they’re out of form.
  
The President –
Encompassing –
A culture that is rife.

With a cold (or is it flu?)
That’s prevalent, despite

The ability to cheer
To love what angers some
To shout and yell in support
Of the mid-fielder, on the run.

He carries the ball down the spine
The team-mate, to his left, is clear
The handpass is perfection –
A hip-and-shoulder, and he’s near

The man who carries everyone’s
Expectations in his foot
He drops the ball, he kicks it straight
His goal, the scene-stealer, to boot

The scene gives of
Fanaticism –
Objective over-ruled –
Zealousness a special treat –
Tastes like a helix – like a spool.

Beyond the backdoor arguments
Of avarice and spite
The paper-pushers run an industry
Constructed from the contract’s might.

The microphone – required
It’s written on the page –
Held out to reach a sonic pitch
That keeps the player sage.

Back ‘on deck’ and it is tight
Precision wins the game
The difference between
Right and wrong
Is written in a name.

Will he go on to stardom?
Does he even have a say?
Perhaps! But if, and only if
Free agency’s the way.
 
The crowd erupts – the game is won
The team’s theme song must be played
Everyone’s a winner
As the dollar sign’s displayed.

For Australian Rules Football, the game they really play in heaven.
 

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