An Alien Take
I’m not into football, cricket or tennis,
(A game of snooker’s more my thing.)
But to keep a friend company –
dumped by her boyfriend, snuffling and sniffling –
I allowed her to bully me into watching a game.
“But I don’t know the rules,” I complained.
“Oh,” she said, “it’s easy enough;
“You’ll soon pick it up as you watch.”
Long before the half-time whistle, my head disengaged from play.
Then, inspiration, I started to see it in a different way,
The way of an alien from way-distant planet.
It gave the game a subtle twist – like strawberry-ice-cream-flavoured crisps.
The next goal scored, the supporters cheered,
And generally made one hell of a din.
Then came a tackle, which drew a roar from the crowd,
A blast on the ref’s whistle, and a yell from my friend.
And finally I saw the true rules of the game.
Now I watched with never-before interest;
Would the game conform to my supposition?
The riotous din of goal after goal definitely confirmed it.
At game’s end my friend was happy to see I’d enjoyed it.
“See, I said if you watched it, you’d soon get to like it.”
I nodded and smiled. “Yea, once I’d discovered the rules.”
For the aim of the game wasn’t to score the most goals.
But by goal, tackle, or foul, to produce in the crowd
The loudest chants, rants, crazes and clamour.