Why We Play The Game

 By Rupert McCall

 When the battle scars have faded
 And the truth becomes a lie
 And the weekend smell of liniment
 Could almost make you cry.

 When the last rucks well behind you
 And the man that ran now walks
 It doesn’t matter who you are
 The mirror sometimes talks

 Have a good hard look old son!
 The melons not that great
 The snoz that takes a sharp turn sideways
 Used to be dead straight

 You’re an advert for arthritis
 You’re a thoroughbred gone lame
 Then you ask yourself the question
 Why the hell you played the game?

 Was there logic in the head knocks?
 In the corks and in the cuts?
 Did common sense get pushed aside?
 By manliness and guts?

 Do you sometimes sit and wonder
 Why your time would often pass
 In a tangled mess of bodies
 With your head up someones arse?

 With a thumb hooked up your nostril
 Scratching gently on your brain
 And an overgrown Neanderthal
 Rejoicing in your pain!

 Mate — you must recall the jersey
 That was shredded into rags
 Then the soothing sting of Dettol
 On a back engraved with tags!

 It’s almost worth admitting
 Though with some degree of shame
 That your wife was right in asking
 Why the hell you played the game?

 Why you’d always rock home legless
 Like a cow on roller skates
 After drinking at the clubhouse
 With your low down drunken mates

 Then you’d wake up — check your wallet
 Not a solitary coin
 Drink Berocca by the bucket
 Throw an ice pack on your groin

 Copping Sunday morning sermons
 About boozers being losers
 While you limped like Quazimoto
 With a half a thousand bruises!

 Yes — an urge to hug the porcelain
 And curse sambuccas name
 Would always pose the question
 Why the hell you played the game!

 And yet with every wound re-opened
 As you grimly reminisce it
 Comes the most compelling feeling yet
 God, you bloody miss it!

 From the first time that you laced a boot
 And tightened every stud
 That virus known as rugby
 Has been living in your blood

 When you dreamt it when you played it
 All the rest took second fiddle
 Now you’re standing on the sideline
 But your hearts still in the middle

 And no matter where you travel
 You can take it as expected
 There will always be a breed of people
 Hopelessly infected

 If there’s a teammate, then you’ll find him
 Like a gravitating force
 With a common understanding
 And a beer or three, of course
 And as you stand there telling lies
 Like it was yesterday old friend
 You’ll know that if you had the chance
 You’d do it all again

 You see — that’s the thing with rugby
 It will always be the same
 And that, I guarantee
Is why the hell you played the game!!