The rugby match was in full flow,
Bodies crashing against bodies,
The oval ball moving side to side.
A fast-moving match,
Suddenly it stopped,
A scrum was called.
The rules and their vagaries
Were now to be seen.
The eight crouched,
Binded together
Faced the other eight,
They crashed together and pushed.
The whistle went,
Something was wrong,
But nobody seemed to know.
Why could it not be clear?
It is one of life’s paradoxes
That can never be resolved,
The great minds kept trying,
That even Steven Hawking was baffled.