Round 4 kicked off last night with the Sydney Roosters overcoming traditional rivals South Sydney Ra...
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Poet Jim Simmerman?s short essay entitled, Twenty Little Poetry Projects claims to provide the reader with ample tools to write the ?ultimate? poem. Simmerman?s ?tools? come in the form of twenty short rules and guidelines, each of which outline how each line of your ?ultimate? poem should be written. Having read Simmerman?s essay, I was immediately intrigued, and thought I should give it a go. So here goes. The ?ultimate? rugby league poem. With all the blame to go to Simmerman if it fails to turn out. (BTW, if at first you don?t understand it, don?t worry. You?ll catch on.)
(Rules always first, and in Bold)
Good refereeing is the cornerstone of rugby league
An example of good refereeing can be seen on any replay of the Sharks vs. Storm game from round 25 this year.
It was on this night that we witnessed a travesty of justice. We heard the jeers and snipes from the Storm supporters. We felt our chances of making the eight slipping away. We smelt the fetid stench of corruption in the air, And we tasted bitter defeat.
Defeat smells like slippery mud, and freshly cut grass.
It sounds like Tim Mander?s laughter ringing in your ears on the long drive back over the bridge and out of the Shire.
Not that I?ve ever heard Tim Mander laugh.
But 2004 will not be remembered for the laughter.
We will remember more the exploits of Noddy and Peach. Sully, Vags and Waltzing.
They were our heroes. Because they wore blue.
Ka mate Ka mate Ka ora Ka ora, Tenei Te Tangata Puhuruhuru, Nana I tiki mai whakawhiti te ra. (Perhaps we should have signed Ali Lauititi to go with Lomu and Vagana)
The dark clouds of madness descend of fans of the Sharks.
We search for darkness in our tunnel. We forget that there is light.
Mander will be unbiased.
The Genius will lose faith.
He will be mocked by those around him when he tips against the Sharks.
Purple haze champagne will flow. Obliterate reminisced nights.
The drinking is painful, we drink to dull the pain.
Encima de Cronulla ascendente, de los muchachos en el blanco negro y de azul.
The porch light screams for darkness. Will our faith remain unmoved?
Mud and grass escape our lives.
NB: Oh, and in case line you?ve read the poem through five or six times, and line 19 is still a little too obscure, it?s a reference to a famous Jack Gibson quote. ?Waiting for Cronulla to win a premiership is like leaving the porch light on for Harold Holt.? Cheers.
Word count: 699 words inc title
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