and so the curtain closes
what once was is not
and never will be again.
Damn football
its just a bloody game
and its just a bloody oval,
dirt, grass and few blumbling stands.
oh and there is the ghost of dad
standing there under the clock,
smiling, dancing his jig,
God love him he loved his bluebaggers.
oh and Pop's over there too,
his scissors in his hand,
he's rushed across from Lygon street again
to see the boys play.
And then there's me as a lad,
surrounded by men,
the cans wobbling beneath my feet,
my kneck stretched up,
I can see, I can see Ragsy!!!!!!
and brave Gary Crane
and Quirky on the wing and
and its just a ground,
just dirt
and grass
and toliets that sing with urine drenched mouths.
and there I am as a young man
standing with my brothers,
all of us singing wildly this GF evening
as another flag is brought home!
And there I am with Keith standing,
always beer in hand,
and watching Kouta and SOS
and dear beloved Motley flying.
But its only a ground
just dirt
and grass
and
and I feel like a friend has passed......
_________________ This type of slight is alien in the more cultured part of the world - Walsh. Its up there with mad dogs, Englishmen and the midday sun!
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