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!