By 2003
September 1 2003

Exile's Summer Poetry

Bad Dream
Date:   24-08-03

I woke early this morning,
from an awful dream.
I dreamed our rugby union side
were the worst there's ever been.

They lossed a game to Italy,
were ranked at nine or ten,
came last in the six nations.
That's bad enough, but then

the English came to Cardiff,
not their best team at all
but a team made up of seconds,
still they nailed us to the wall.

By the time the ref blew up
they had 5 tries run in,
and at not a moment of the game
did it look like Wales would win.

Our boys showed no commitment,
no talent and no pride.
Then the truth it hit me,
and I must confess I cried

Wales v England
Date:   21-08-03

What will they say if we beat them,
do any of us truly care?
They will say that we just beat their seconds,
but all we can beat is what's their.

We don't decide who they send here,
We don't decide who wears white.
They will say that their first team's too good now,
and will beat our boys out of sight.

But that kind of talk doesn't matter,
it don't matter to me not a bit.
All that matters is that our boys beat them,
nothing else matters at all, now does it?

The computer that says their the leaders.
The computer that says their the best,
it don't take account of who's there and who's not
it just notes the score of the test.

So go out and show them proud Welshmen,
that next time they come to our land,
they'd best bring their number one players
and not dismiss us out of hand.