Jean Reid’s Poems

It’s Just Not Cricket

The crowd’s mood was intense, you could feel the suspense,

When McCredie made good his entry,

Not through the gate, where you’d expect one as great,

As he had potential to be.

But through a hole in the fence, and in his defence,

He bowed to the crowd on one knee.

There was no doubt that he would, finish Baillie for good,

With the skill and the speed of delivery.

Have his name on the board, in the club house at Lords,

And attend Buckingham Palace for tea.

But the Gods as they say, move a mysterious way,

Not governed by Man’s need for glory.

They enjoy a good joke, like any other bloke.

When life becomes boring and dreary.

They decided that day, just for fun they would play,

A game with this ball throwing dandy,

Show him once and for all, tall poppies can fall

And no- ones immune to their trickery.

There appeared in the sky, a huge bird way up high,

Invisible to all but McCredie,

As he bowled the first ball, the great bird began to fall,

At speed never before seen in flight history.

It zoomed onto the pitch, grabbed the ball in its fist,

Then soared high to the top of a chimney,

Where it sat for a while, with a contemptuous smile

Before disappearing from sight quite completely.

Mac threw his arms in the air, in utter despair.

Gone now was his one chance for glory.

The selectors would look, in their little black book

Cross his name form the list; end of story.

Baillie now saw his chance, he must make a stance

If selection was his top priority

He was off like a shot, but what’s that, great Scott,

A wild crowd descending towards me.

That’s enough the gods said, let’s go home to bed,

We’ve had fun and caused mayhem a plenty.

Let them sort themselves out, they must learn without doubt.

Nothing is certain but their mortality.

So sports fans everywhere, take heed and beware,

Of heroes who seek fame and glory,

For no matter how great, they can meet the same fate,

Fallen and broken like poor Humpty.

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