“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.

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