THE MATCH

The thud of the ball on the goal-post;
The tramp of the boots on the grass;
The piercing screech of the whistle...
Hard luck, I had fumbled the pass.

The roar of the crowd and the cheering;
The swish of the ball through the air;
The gasps, and the goal-mouth wide open...
Alas, but I wasn't there.

I trapped the ball with the toe of my boot,
I dribbled through forwards to place
The ball in a perfect position to shoot...
Too bad, I tripped over my lace.

Kick-off once again, the ball came to me,
I hurtled right out of our half,
With brilliant manoeuvres I baffled their backs...
But was crippled by cramps in the calf.

The chances they came and I missed them,
There were jeers and my team nearly cried,
Then, at last, I was there, I scored ! We had won !!
But the referee ruled me off-side.


 

My Dad kindly composed those brilliantly witty, alliterative lines for my English Homework. Was that cheating? It was published in the School Mag. Ha ha ha.

More pieces by Namur King

Another kind of match

 

 

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