Don’t Misunderstand

Please don’t misunderstand me, I’m not leaving 
although it may seem that way; where I’m now a 
better view claims than anywhere I’ve ever been 
and, needless to say - it appears like change, or 
pattern variation you’re not used to; but that’s for 
you to see - I only know what it is for me: so this 
infatuation with the other game isn’t an illness or 
grave insomnia you’d want treated immediately 

Within a week the series will have ceased, all its 
players passed back into anecdotal history; if an 
excess of bullshit and jellybeans came to pass - 
so be it - we’re not likely to rise at 2am to watch 
live soccer again for at least four years, and the 
meantime is already engaged in Super Rugby 

So bear with me - I don’t care if referees ponce 
and players dramatise their ‘injuries’, in that air 
of prance and circumstance I can see a drama 
unfold into the dance of life; some fans ritually 
wear gaudy rite of passage costumes scarcely 
as trite as copy-cat hairstyles, yet apt for play 

And there I am chastened; no, I’m not leaving - 
I’ve shared an insight by being there - and with 
you when I could’ve as easily been sleeping: a 
rare admission you’ll say gratefully - bearing in 
mind you wouldn’t actually stay for the penalty 
shoot-outs which ultimately decided the game 

© 6 July 2014, I. D. Carswell