OLDIES 35 YOUNGSTERS 29
Then sun beat down on that green field of battle
where youngsters ran fast and old joints did rattle
the annual game that divided the team
into unders and overs, both just as keen
Nine years of dominance, the unders have kept
the trophy of war, as the oldies have wept
a last chance for Scott, he’s moving away
and will be two parts pissed by the end of the day
The game is afoot, Andy Carson off the mark
crossing the line at the under end of the park
the finish is stretching, Sam supplied the pop
it’s a rare try for our stalwart, sandal-wearing lock
The youngsters hit back, with 2 tries of their owns
can’t quite remember, I think one was a Holmes
spirit was high, a tenth year of success
half time, twelve – seven, keep doing your best
Now switching ends, the oldies looked doomed
but they didn’t know what a dramatic half loomed
Declan soon crossed for the third under’s zinger
providing the pass was Rhys, the left winger
but then came three tries, a maul and a thrust
Oldies poured in, Rog, Scott and bust!
The unders were sunk, a pen added three
the score twenty seven – nineteen, a comeback to see
A glimmer of hope for the unders to rally,
Kieran sprints around, the oldies dilly dally
the centre fullback flanker dots down for a score
the unders are back to nearly a draw.
The points tick along as Scott slots a drop goal
accusation now rife that the ref is an oldie mole!
another try grounded, from geriatric hands
seals a win for the aged, twenty four – thirty five
As the minutes tick down, clock almost out
Rhys Stewart makes sure the games not a rout
he dances and evades through the whole old man line
to get one himself, just before full time.
Match report by our very own Poet Laureate, Rhys Thomas.
Extra Verses added by Bish !
The lightning eight, Bishop broke free
without realising how close was Birchy;
Our hero was tackled, his ankle had failed
but no hint of his pain, so quietly he wailed.
Sympathy from supporters, a large glass of port
reinvigorated the ankle, greatest comeback in sport!
but despite the great efforts of our club’s Cornish rock,
the game was long lost; long like Roger’s manhood.