The Changing Room

As you sit upon the changing, bench gathering your thoughts,
Staring at the concrete floor, focusing on nought.
This is just another game, but on a bigger stage,
Take your chance to write  your name on this historic page.
Prepared for peak performance,
Mentally you bet
Ready for the challenge, crouch mind set!

Your feet are gently tapping, no nerves would be untrue,
But the sound of studs on concrete floor what does it mean to you?
From your first game, first teacher, capped inside that sound
Everything you've given, your soul is to be found.
Now nerves transformed and channelled to that haunting tapping sound
Of studded boots on hallowed ground that echoes all around.
Calm yourself, control your thoughts, you mustn't peak too early.
There's experience in this changing room, deep breaths will now help surely.

You are only as good as this next game,
To the grind stone once again
But remember your magnificence of all past games and then,
Your skill and dedication will certainly bring more.
Bottle all those positives your greatest still in store,
This is your time get ready, you'll play your best game yet;
Come on England's finest crouch bind set!

The drip of perspiration that collects on furrowed brow;
We know this salt like teardrop but keep controlled for now.
Your passion what it means to you, soon we'll see it flow
When the anthems start, your toughened shell, emotion now on show.

Tight bonding in the changing room, just one last final squeeze
As you step out of the changing room to Twickenham's sweetest breeze.
That sound of studs now echoes as you walk out one by one
But you know you are together as you stride in union
To the song of our Sweet Charriot; the roaring has begun.
Remember, we are with you, you live our dreams and hopes
The whole squad and you lucky ones, you 15 Glorious blokes
You know you're not alone as you wear our English Rose
Come on England's finest let's #carrythemhome

England v France 2017

Eddie starts this year's campaign,
Chance to extend unbeaten reign:
No laurels on which he lays to rest,
Onwards to next sternest test.
Maybe hint of one slight worry
But complacency not in his dictionary.
Some mighty fall, but once again the fortress wall,
Reminds the team, steadfast, stand tall!

Injury list, the new buzz word,
But for Eddie he'll not be deterred.
It won't detract, won't affect his eye
Invincibility! He's aiming high;
Use this time, blood future plan
Onwards even think Japan!
Drives him on and on the contrary
"No excuses!" is his dictionary!

Those incoming, this is your chance
Stamp authority all over France
Make sure your name's first, on next team sheet
Sewn and inked, upon the seat.
They'll remember those first early caps,
New chaps, but how were they kept under wraps?
The squad, the team, the strength in depth,
This is your time from springboard leapt
Into the Twickenham roaring fire,
Roared on by the full voiced choir!

The experienced, those battle scarred
Mental strength their metal hard
Memories to spur them on. The bad delete,
The good repeat, to continue on this winning feat!
Remember now back at square one
Nil nil, ground zero, the start's begun
But remember they're still on a role
Grow in stature make sure toil tolls.
Winning rolls on from Autumn clashes
Where left off,  those brilliant flashes.
Take all that's in their well packed bags
Rose on shirt, wave English flags
You're only as good as this next game
But remember, invincibility's aim!

6 Nations Anticipation

Like Christmas, it's that time of year:
Those crisping Winter days!
A call to arms, proudly singing their hymns of praise.
The whites, the blues, the reds, the greens;
Seams flowers sewn with hearts on sleeves!
Saltires, tricolours, St George's Cross
Dragons. All fighting to be the boss!
When the anthems play,
There'll be the odd shed tear,
Pundits and players of yester year,
Will gather and gossip of games gone by,
Appetites whetted for this year's feast of bread from high.
Twickenham streets are buzzing,
The Cabbage Patch and Albany ,
Barmy Arms, White Swan with many,
No doubt half time, half cut, there's Guinness, there's beer,
But drunk upon the atmosphere.
The pop up places serving prime pulled pork,
Glazing faces starved of talk.
Barbecues breathing fire and quenching urges,
Front gardens blessed with feasts of fresh grilled burgers.
Plastic pint pots brimming with beer and stout,

This year's World Cup to shout about.
The walk from town to stadium,
The police horse calm amongst the throng;
The lubricated now break into song.
Anticipation of what lies ahead,
80 minutes of power, and pace, and execution!
Can Ireland keep Championship Six Nations?
The beer, the banter, the tammy shanter.

Quips from all, take nothing for granted.
The shirt, the badge, the honour.
The talking's over the whistles blown,
Come on England lets carry them home!