Bland's Bits

Bland On Bland – On The Run

posted by Ian Bland on October 4, 2009

Photo By Jools Thatcher

The theme for this week’s JVG Radio Method is “On The Run”

Ed Bates is on the guitar this week

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On The Run

On the run

Sunday morning, the day after Grand Final
It’s cold and threatening to rain
Down Nepean Highway it’s ten degrees cooler
The chill brought on by the pain

The 600 Bus, streamers now tattered
Balloons wilting – white, black and red
Like a tired old queen, who’s left on her make up
And her frock before going to bed

A bloke not born when they last won the flag
A little ragged from the grog and the wait
Turns to his friend, face cupped in his hands
“This is worse than not making the eight”

A mural daubed on a fence; the paint’s run, as though tears
Declares, ever hopeful; “Go Sainters”
Proving to all that while football’s an art
Some are better supporters than painters

Though hurting, the loyal still wear their beanies
For the club – it’s not about self
Their love for the jumper akin to a marriage
In sickness as well as in health

Billy Miller plays at the George on a Sunday
This evening, as usual, the same
The show must go on – and Billy’s a trooper
But please – don’t mention the game

He punches his way through ‘A Hard Days Night’
Too true – still you won’t see him frown
But his eyes glaze over and his lips draw tight
On the chorus of “When the Ship Goes Down”

While pot bellied boffins belch out their judgements
On umpires, tactics and ‘Roo’
“The ball touched the post” – “They should have played Hudghton”
Each comment, a turn of the screw

At the bar, Callum and Tracey – despondent
A weekend they’d rather forget
They’re happy to talk – at least when they’re ready
And it’s clear they’re not ready yet

They curtly cut short all conversation
Concerning the game or the score
Not being rude – simply, they’re gutted
Emotions and tonsils still raw

All they desire is a little more time
A little more time and some space
Commiserations, well intended, keep feeding the hurt
And rub it right into your face

You won’t find a word that can alter the score
This season is dusted and done
They’ll be right in a day – or a week – maybe two
But for now they’re still on the run

© Copyright 2009 Ian Bland