This glorious game, we named it cricket <br />The finest sport (besides our middle wicket) <br />How can you describe the fun we get <br />With mere verbs, adjectives or epithet. <br />For cricket’s hardly a game at all <br />Overs of boredom with bat missing ball <br />No it’s the chat that I love <br />Placing this game on a plane above. <br />The pleasantries exchanged between bowler and bat <br />It doesn’t come, much better than that <br />The chat twixt keeper and slip <br />The humour without malice, the icy quip <br />There is nothing like the camaraderie <br />The laughter and the hilarity <br />When leather hits the inside of your knee. <br />Solicitous inquiries about the pain. <br />Captain quietly praying for a dropp of rain. <br />White flannelled fools in sylvan places <br />No rubbish talked here, of pars or aces <br />Leisurely walks around tree-lined grounds <br />Senior spectators with tales that astound <br />Of beamers and yorkers and players well hung <br />On summers evenings their praises are sung. <br />Nothing gives quite as much pleasure <br />As the craic, the fun, sounds of bat on leather <br />A hot summers day, the shout of HOWZAT <br />It just cannot get better than that. <br />Waking spectators from their cozy snooze. <br />“Well just a half then, we’ve nothing to lose” <br />It really doesn’t matter, win, lose or draw. <br />Cricket’s the game, we truly adore.<br /><br />Keith Oldrey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cricket-a-mans-game/
