Author: Edward Dyson

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I sing of a game of football rare,
The buffers were quick, the ball was a brick,
The boots were heavy as bricks – I swear
That the ground was strewn with casualties thick,
That the sweat poured out, and the tongues ran dry,
As the wind blew straight from the salt sea nigh.
The grass was long, the line was strong,
And the hair flew out on the pinions of song,
And the yelling mob went up to the sky,
In a bass too deep for a maiden's sigh.

There was Jones from Jones's flat,
A man with a muscle of iron – that
Was said of him by all who knew
The strength of his grip and his ready 'shoo!'
And there was Smith, a feller of worth,
With calves like an ox and a well-built girth;
And there was Brown from the next farm's height,
A man of beef and a man of might,
With limbs like the trunk of a mighty tree,
And shoulders broad as a man may see.

The teams were full, the air was cool,
The buffers went out, with an eye to rule;
The ball was set, and the blood was hot,
And they toed their mark like the bull to the shot.
There was no time then for an idle thought,
The whistle blew, and the battle was fought.

For a minute or two the teams stood still,
Each man looked grim with an iron will,
And the silence was felt as the mob stood still,
As each one tried to look on the kill.
Then Brown went down in a cloud of dust,
And Jones came up with a bang and a thrust;
And the mob went mad with the yell and cheer,
And the clouds of dust made the air unclear;
And the buffers scrambled and kicked like mad,
As each one fought for the points to add.

Then Smith struck out with a flying fist,
And Jones got home with a heavy twist;
And Brown went down on his back and lay
With his teeth stuck fast in a lump of clay;
And the buffers, battered, bruised, and torn,
Took breath again in the early morn,
And they looked with awe at the work of fate,
And they wondered much as they stood in state.

The game went on, and the air grew thick
With the clouds of dust and the scent of brick;
And the sweat poured out, and the tongues ran dry,
As the wind blew straight from the salt sea nigh;
And the crowd went up with a deep bass cry
As the players staggered and fell to die.

Then Jones and Smith and Brown went in,
With a struggle fierce, and a struggle grim;
And they flung out arms, and they flung out legs,
As they fought like fiends in a deadly rig;
And the buffers went down with a heavy crash,
As the air resounded with bang and smash.
But they fought again, and they fought once more,
Till the goal was won and the points went o'er;
And the game was ended with yell and cheer,
And the bruisers went home with a word of cheer.

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Type of Poem: Ballad

Date Written: 1890-01-01

Date Published: 1890-01-01

Language: English

Keywords: Football, Humor, Competition, Sports, Friendship

Source: Public Domain Collection

Publisher: E. Dyson

Rights/Permissions: Public Domain

Comments/Notes: A humorous and exaggerated ballad depicting a rough game of football among strong men, filled with lively action and vivid imagery.