Eighty minutes went by,
Went by like a flash.
There they were on the pitch,
Thirty men, fifteen on each side
Knocking seven bells out of each other.
The holders of the world cup
Playing the current best team in the world,
A match of staggering skill
And formidable power,
A game I was totally lost in.
They crashed into each other
With so much solidarity
As if they hated each other,
Both determined to win at all costs,
But always played within the rules,
The rules of Rugby Union.
The final whistle blue,
The match had ended,
So much skill,
So much power was shed,
Shed on that pitch
But only twenty one points were scored,
Thirteen to Ireland,
And eight to South Africa.
A thoroughly enjoyable match for me,
For me to see.
Then at the end I was almost in tears
As these huge men
Who had knocked hell out of each other
Came together in harmony,
Shaking hands and cuddling,
Showing their strength of character
That they had in this wonderful game
Where acrimony disappears at the end,
At the end of each game,
Such a beautiful game.