No Pressure

No pressure, as you place the kicking tee,
"We could really do with this extra three!"
Convert this pressure into points,
To leave with nothing, would disappoint,

A miss might lead to heads that drop,
Keep up momentum we must not stop:
Red zone attack, we execute,
Come on kick, the points you beaut!

But it's out wide, 'tween twenty two and ten,
Not easy, but within range and then,
The breeze and eyes of crowd,
But stand up tall and proud.

Mind focus deep on your routine,
Been here before, this conscious stream:
Beathe long, relax, visualise the kick,
Remember metronomic tick.

Concentrate, block out those sounds,
That echo, distract and cause a frown.
Focus on the tilted ball,
You heard the captain's call!

The stitch in line with upright sticks,
Dissect the cross bar, there's the trick!
Plant firm foot, let pendulum swing ,
Robotic right boot to strike the thing.

Whether high, glorious, straight and true
The flapping, ugly worker will do;
As long as it sales between uprights,
And converts the pressure into points!

No pressure as you place the kicking tee
We need to make this seven you see
Extras provide the breathing space
No pressure, gods speed and and say your grace!

Rugby roots, metal studded boots

I remember my first pair of metal studded boots.
How they played the Pied Pipers most mesmeric of flutes;
That magic, and memories the sound stirs around,
Footsteps on tarmac on my old school playground.
A magnificent feeling, with joy I abound:
Matched mud on my knee caps with a resonating sound!

Was I watched at all by a Twickenham crowd?
Each metallic step would they cheer out loud?
Alas, not for me, it's my imagination that matters;
Each step was a symbol a symphonic clatter;
Accompanied of course by some small school boy chatter!

Transforming those small steps, now each mighty stride,
Oh first rugby boots, how they'd be my guide.
From moulded boot boy, to the moulding of men,
To shape, me to guide me, oh yes and then,
It gave me the hope of playing  U10!

Those metal studs, bolt-like, seeming so small,
But screwed in my boots, made me ten feet tall.
There were six metal studs screwed into each boot;
Dreaming, that magic, make me fleet of foot,
Giving me confidence, I started to strut.

Like iron hammer stud, striking church bell,
With the sound of each footstep, my chest it did swell.
Protecting, cajoling, symphonic brotherhood.
This choral caste, that made each step good,
Ensured I blossomed, from this yearling bud!

The peeling of each ringing star studded stride,
Each concrete footstep, it filled me with pride.
Something immense, I now do belong,
Collective protection in this happy throng
The church bell rang loudly, I joined in its song.

That simple sound of metal studded boots,
The echoes from corridors, like fine armoured suits.
The moulding of me from forbidden fruit,
Team bonding together they showed me the route.
The thoughts that it triggers of my playing days,
We should all have played rugby, is the sound that it says!

SNAP Decision

Sevens is the way forward,
Said the RFU;
To the women who played for England:
We say good bye to you!

A few will keep their contracts,
For the great and good,
Others not so lucky;
What about their livelihood?

Made sacrifice for Rugby,
Now they'll have to fend,
Maybe thrown to the lions
We don't mean to offend!

Will decision be final,
Or depend on the Black ferns?
Reconsider position
Until, what do we earn?

Entrepreneur Simon Pennock
Steps into the breach
SNAP rugby Sponsorship
Or Lions to coach and teach.

Three months short term contracts
To get them on their way
Ring a ring red Roses
For some hip hip hooray!

Beacons of inspiration,
To develop at grass roots.
Bring on next generation,
#RedRoses grows green shoots!

No 8

The power house at base of scrum,
A kind of wrecking ball;
Pick and drive, break free and run,
But heed the scrum half call!

Dynamic strength, the handling skills,
Need pace to break gain line,
Nouse, insight, and vodka filled,
Off load the pill enshrined.

Loading line outs with towering heights,
Add a forth dimension;
Ensure you're in the hooker's sights,
Shows ambition and intention.

Have confidence and speed of thought,
Immune from white line fever;
Recycle ball, and panic nought,
Release to wide receivers.

Cantilever of the back row balance,
Leader of this hunting pack,
Scavenger scales the gauntlet challenge
And dovetails row at back.

Faletau, Parisee, Picamoles
Heaslip, Vunipola
Read the game, all know your roles
These heavy weight steam rollers!

Dallaglio, Richards, Zinzan Brooke,
Shelford, Scott Quinnel,
Uttley, eights who wrote the book,
And gave defences hell.

Lead from the front, though back of pack,
You have the leaders traits;
Cornerstone of kebab shack,
Conductor. Number eight!

10

Stand off, fly half, the first of five-eigths
Distributing ball, taking the weight,
Of attacking decisions, to kick or to run
Broadest of shoulders, ball out it is spun!

Take the ball flat, or sit in the pocket,
The tightest defence, oh how to unlock it?
Calling the shots, the well rehearsed moves,
Back inside, to use forwards fine hooves.

Softest of hands, or bullet wide pass,
Eye for a gap, possessing some gas.
High ball, a dink through, make defences think;
Will they kick, pass, or go for a jink.

Miss pass, a short pop, play what's up ahead
Creative, a dog leg, ball it is sped.
Cross kick or clearing, releasing the pressure
Decisions, decisions, confusing the lessor!

First up tackling, drive drift defence
Shouting the calls don't take offence
An out an out play maker, a ruthless exploiter,
Speed of decisions, there's no chance to loiter!

I'm precious protect me from big open sides
I'll tackle if needed but seen as fragile
Play maker, creative artwork to be seen
Appreciate it kindly to keep my shirt clean!

Scrum Half

The lynch pin, the link man, between forwards and backs;
Used to be pint sized to spear head attacks.
Now can be 6.3, extra size adding bulk,
If don't get their own way, have been known to sulk.
Tenacious, pugnacious, they never say die;
Impassioned, encouragement they won't let it lie.

Barking their orders sniping at heels,
Guiding the forwards, ensuring the steals.
Control rolling maul, the eyes of the pack,
Midfield Generals, Napoleon's with strategic attack
Gobby shites, chelping, chatting, winding up play,
Adding their snipes, having to have the last say.

Preference for arm chairs, but earning their pay,
If scrum going backwards, get ball quickly away.
Spin pass to fly half, and gas off the mark,
Using the blind side, they probe and they dart;
Or light blue touch paper, and watch it ignite,

Add spark to the game, and try as they might,

Innocent looks, butter wouldn't melt in their mouth;
Yeah right! In Sahara there's never a drought!
Put ball in at scrum time, with no crooked feed,
Run pace of the game at lightning speed,
Pass from the base, first to every ruck,
Dig out the ball if under bodies gets stuck.
Eye for a gap, some are wild and untamed,
Box kicks, the high ball, taking their aim.
Jack Russell's of rugby can be a right pain,
But important, the lynch pin, dictating the game!