Our Touch Football Day
© Gregory North, 2005

Video from DVD Man of Many Hats. Available here.

Today was our Touch Football day and mate, we had some fun!
A day that I'll remember, though I can't recall who won.
The contest was terrific and the scores so very close.
I'll tell you all what happened, but be warned, it's pretty gross.

The school teams came from near and far to see just who was best
and some kids were so huge – about a metre round the chest.
There were some nearly twice our size and one boy had a mo!
There should have been a test for drugs to see what made them grow.

When games began, we tried our best to score and not get hurt.
No matter how we scurried though, we often bit the dirt.
Some parents then would scream abuse at refs and players too,
then other parents got involved; I thought there'd be a blue.

The scorers scribbled frantic'ly to write up all the scores,
when suddenly, a scuffle broke, along with screams and roars.
A protest had turned ugly and a stray rebounding ball
had hit a mother in the face to start an all-out brawl.

The scorers and the parents all went totally berserk.
The canteen staff, the teachers, even refs all got to work
at throwing punches, kicking heads as though they were possessed.
I s'pose that these things happen when your Mum is highly stressed.

This big bloke at the barbeque, a giant of a man,
picked up his tongs and roared so loud, that all we children ran.
And from the safety of the field we watched him lift Kim's mum,
then as he hurled her through the air, a flame shot out his bum!

It seems the strain of throwing her's the thing that made it start
and naked flames in barbeques ignited his huge fart!
We heard a deaf'ning pthth-thth sound and then a mighty woooooff.
The canteen was on fire – from the floorboards to the roof!

The heat was just amazing, but the fighters stood their ground.
As hair and teeth went flying we could hear a siren sound.
Then riot squad police swept in, but couldn't stop the war,
until the fire engines came with hoses on full boar.

The fire was extinguished and combatants drenched and sore.
While some left there by ambulance, police took many more.
The big kid with the mo turned round and said, "Yep, fighting's bad.
And parents can teach some things, see that farter was my Dad."

We got to talking, Shek and I and now he's my good mate.
We'll never fight at footy games or even get irate.
We're swapping highlights of the day through electronic mail,
and no-one's screaming, "Get to bed," 'cause Mum is still in jail!

< Fully Sick Mate! Back to See list of poems The Tradesman >
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© Gregory North 2010. Photos by Andrew Bosman and Gregory North. Updated March
2011