BEING THE SCRUM-HALF... (My poem about playing at scrum-half in games of Rugby Union...)

 Being The Scrum-half…

Such a feeling.

The open air.

Freshness, yet aching cold.

Soft turf, turning harsh with frost

By the minute.

Black, leather boots,

Losing their lustre

As feet pad the earth.

Waiting for them…

Hands damp,

Bathed in hurt.

Hair flowing

In the wind.

A foot to the ball,

The projection high,

Slicing both atmosphere

And time…

Run,

Cover,

Beating out the biting gale.

Safe catch…

Holding on with stiffening fingers.

Colleague curses into the gusts, then relief

As my punt finds touch

And heavy men gain ground…

Opponent strikes late.

Falling…

Crashing to the hardening surface.

Breath steams from winded body,

Shoulder burns abuse,

Blood oozes from grazed knee

But there’s no respite…

I’m rising, bellowing, anticipating

The line-out ruse…

Such a feeling

Of pain.

Of winning.

With pain…

Pete Ray

Personal experience playing at scrum-half in Rugby Union…

HAVING TO POSE IN THE GARDEN...

Loved it.

FIRST EVER TIME HOLDING A RUGBY BALL...

SEATED ON GROUND, RIGHT...

KING EDWARD'S G.S. ASTON...