I have never been too bothered about watching sport,
I would rather be out myself on the course or the court.
Because it seems to me that the joke is on us all,
As spectators watching the race, or the horse, or the ball.
For example, take tennis – we watch the ball in flight,
We look like wet dogs, shaking our heads from left to right.
Or basketball – the way they tear up the shiny floor,
It takes 20-20 vision to try to keep up with the score.
Polar opposite is golf with putts, wedges and drives,
Tabloids find more excitement in players’ personal lives!
What exactly do we gain from viewing a game such as darts?
Though the man calling ‘One hundred and eighty!’ does have it off to an art!
So who on Earth invented all of these peculiar games?
What was their motive? What really was their aim?
Well, certainly they fooled any willing sporting spectators,
They’re now convinced they’re watching talented winners or traitors.
But before we despair and turn off the football on TV,
There’s one more sport to consider and it’s not even the Grand Prix…
No, in style I save the best ’til last,
The most crazy, ridiculous sport I’ve passed…
Is the one with the most masculine, athletic of men,
Which I admit to watching for humour now and then.
But when you actually consider this game, even the shape of the ball,
You’ll find this the most ludicrous, unusual sport of all…
Yes, it’s rugby – that sport where great, bearded men laden the field,
They’re rugged, they’re manly, in a fight they’d never yield,
But on the pitch they run in a lovely, neat straight line,
Then fall over quite on purpose, and repeat ’til the whistle calls time!
Poetic Eccentricity 