Sweeps there be who scorn the game

Well, the six week festival of denial, displacement, intellectualization, fantasy, compensation, projection, rationalization, reaction formation, regression, repression and sublimation that is the World Cup is underway. France have already been beaten, and England broke Johnny Wilkinson when they unwrapped him, so no change there. My id, ego, and super-ego all agree that they want to watch the games on TV, but the id suggests doing it in the pub while the super-ego is reminding me that the view is as good if not better from the sets built in to the treadmills and exercise bikes in Virgin Active. Last night the id triumphed.

All together now:

Rain and wind and hidden sun,
Wild November weather,
Barren field and leafless tree,
Bare of fur or feather,
Sweeps there be who scorn the game,
on them tons of soot fall
Old Alleynians here declare
nought like Rugby Football.

CHORUS
For it's three two three head to head
And it's feet feet feet all the way
And it's fall on the ball
till you're black and blue and all
But the Blue and Black I swear
shall win the day.


Forwards, forwards, hard as nails,
Keep your bellows mended,
Play it long, and play it hard
Till the game is ended.
Pack, shove, break - the ball's away,
Follow, quickly follow;
Times you'd best be standing up,
Times you'd better wallow.
CHORUS.....

Halves and threes! a word with you:
Don't take passes standing,
Collar low, and while you're young
Learn and love off-handing.
Little or much, a punt to touch
Is just the thing in season;
Bite the grass, but make your pass,
And know the time to freeze on,
CHORUS.....

'Broken heads and bleeding shins!
What's the cause for sorrow?
Shut your mouth and grin the more,
Plaster time tomorrow.
Young or old this shall remain
Still your favourite story;
Fifteen fellows fighting full,
Out for death or glory.
CHORUS.....