Forty years ago, we played for a warrior, poet, and coach. So with apologies to Kipling, Shelly, & Keat, here’s a verse, while you lace your cleats.
Halftime had been all despair.
24 minutes left to bear.
Down 14 at the break
A perfect record still at stake
We had not come this far
For close again, but miss the bar
So Forte’s tiptoes made a play
Plus three more from the foot of Bray.
As time ticked down the defense held
We’d get the ball for one last spell
11 Young men, most in their prime
Seventy yards before the final chime
Long shadows revealed shortness of breath
As we chewed up time, chalk and grass
Until three yards and ten ticks remained
Of the year of our years, and record unstained
Veer dive right.
On one. Break.
Broadie fell untouched by green
Upon verdant elysium, a jersey clean.
We are not immortal, that’s fair to say
But at that moment, we felt that way.
Now Judges yield to a feral pig
Our sacred cow’s graves we dig
While lifetimes come, and lifetimes go
Our team endures, more than you know.
And it’s true what they say…a man never forgets where he ran, as a boy.
Thank you for allowing me to be a part of your team in 1980 and many of your lives since then.