Footy Poetry: The Day That Bob Went Down

The Day That Bob Went Down

By Andrew Leonedas

 

At Docklands they gathered, many thousands strong,
The promise of an epic, what could go wrong?
They wore suits, they wore trackies, the gentry, the flogs,
To see the might of the Hawks match wits with young Dogs.
Goliath struck early, Hawks bullied and bashed,
Undersized David looking woefully mismatched.
But true to their nature Bulldogs’ barked and showed bite,
Refused to lie down in one hell of a fight.

 

Like musketeers they were one with great thrust and parry,
Turned the game on its head with skilled run and carry.
And the coach, never beaten, nor discouraging word,
Willed his pups to the lead deep in the third.
‘Twas an old fashioned shoot-out, black hats against white,
Alas the Corral not O.K, not on this fateful night.
The script was thrown out, Dogs found no holy grail,
As the mistress of fate spun a twist in her tale.

 

The Twittersphere burst, disbelief, all at sea,
“Oh no, not Bob, it just cannot be”!
The footy world stunned, held a collective breath,
Had the dream of 300 come to a premature death?
Music lost rhythm, rainbows faded their hues,
And minstrels, subdued, just sang the blues.
No violets of blue, nor was any rose red,
Dreams turned to nightmares for children in bed.

 

Flavours of food tasted notably bland,
With this cruellest of blows dealt by the devil’s own hand.
Even outspoken scribes were lulled quiet of lip,
Their hero’s journey now torn from the script.
Condolences flooded in a river of tears,
Never had a rival been quite so revered.
Lovers near and far wore no less than a frown,
On this, the day, that Bob went down.