When people claim ‘Rugby is Life’, they’re mad,
Cos surely it couldn’t be ever that bad;
Nothing in life will be given to you straight.
People will lie, they will cheat and they’ll hate.
Life is just angry, deceitful and hard,
It punishes you just for being dealt the wrong cards.
Bad people aren’t dealt with, the good still feel pain,
The Lazy get sunshine and the Givers get rain.
The Cowards get white clouds, the brave just get black,
Life sees the needy and cuts them no slack.
But there’s one place we’re even, and that’s on the pitch,
Where Rugby takes Life and it makes it its Bitch.
Rugby is honest; a beacon of light,
A real test of courage, and mettle and fight.
You can give it your all, you can give every ounce,
But you still get your ass kicked by one shitty bounce.
You all start off even when you step on the field,
You will share every gut-wrench, every bite on your shield,
Every tackle, every breakdown, every forty yard run,
Every let down, heartbreak, and game lost and won.
So if ‘Rugby is Life’, then the pitch is your stage;
The scrums are your struggles, each match is a page,
The line-outs your high-points, the rucks are your low.
Each half is a battle, each battle you grow.
They’re similar, in places, there’s pain, sometimes blood,
But Rugby will be fairer than Life ever could.
It’s brutal, it’s honest, and pain precedes pleasure,
And it won’t ever let you live life by half measure.
It’s punishing, it’s humbling, but at least it is fair;
All it asks is that you give your all; nothing spare.
Life may be varied, and certainly longer,
But Rugby takes weakness, and builds it up stronger.
You’re proud of your bruises from each heavy hit,
Because Rugby wont lie; there’s no frills and no shit.
You can hit every line, ‘til your heart starts to pound,
But it’ll knock you straight back, and rub your face in the ground.
You’ll pick yourself up, you can dig in your heels,
Life won’t come close to how good Rugby feels.
You’ll line up together, your human brick wall,
But when one ‘brick’ should crumble then all of you fall.
For eighty long minutes you’ll huff and you puff,
But you’ll rarely come back thinking ‘I gave enough.’
Every try, every tackle, you’ll give what you could,
You’ll take sips of water, but you’ll give pints of blood.
People may praise you, or shower you in wealth,
But Rugby won’t kick your ass, you’ll do that yourself.
So brothers and sisters, who play this fine game,
Who play for the challenge, and not for the fame,
Whose tackles are harder; its more than a sport,
Where balls are strapped on, not just punted or caught,
Where what you can bench press or the weights on the rack,
Won’t tell you nothing; it doesn’t mean jack.
Cos what really matters is how you stand tall,
And pick yourself up each time you fall,
Cos Rugby wont forgive and will rarely forget,
You’ll take all your punishment, with no reward yet.
It’ll grind you, and hurt you, it’ll make you feel small,
Its not just a game with a funny shaped ball,
It’s much more that, it takes hold of your heart,
It tears it, it breaks it, it rips it apart.
But you keep coming back, because one thing is true,
You can’t feel alive ‘til you’re black and you’re blue,
You can’t learn from lifting, or hitting the track,
You’ve got to run head first through Hell and then back.
So when Life hands you lemons, just send them away,
Cos Life knows there’s only one game you will play,
With Life, to get anywhere, you’ll stick to the letter.
Life isn’t Rugby. Rugby is better.
(credits to oddlyshapedballs.tumblr.com)