50p
Ode to the Junior Boys
Mr. Paul Collis, Head of Brentwood’s English department and coach of the Junior Boys Soccer team, has immortalized the boys’ recent Island Championship in verse. He performed his poem live from memory in the School Assembly last Thursday. Here for your enjoyment and edification is his ode.
Well done, boys! Well done, Mr. Collis.
75p
There are strange things done
Under soccer’s sun
Where the boys do toil for goals;
I’ve endured such times
On the sidelines
As would make your blood run cold;
I’ve seen so much,
Coaching from touch,
But the strangest I ever did see?
The Junior Boys 1st XI
Went to AAA Heaven
And brought back the Island trophy.
It starts back in goal,
And keeping ours whole
Was our potty-mouthed goalie so brave;
He giggles like a girl,
Then he dives for that pearl:
The Hooke catches, and, like Jesus, he saves.
All hail to my backline!
No chains adamantine
Could be forged from tougher steel.
Who is my clean sweeper?
He’s Colin: Isfeld’s grim reaper.
And Mark Dayton eats wingers like a meal.
A team’s spine is center-back,
And our backbone was Jacked,
So full of rage for officiating men.
Mon capitaine, mon capitaine?
His name’s Reid Anderson
He puts the man in de manu in manum.
Now let’s talk midfield, please,
Let’s talk Martin Kenklies,
Whose left boot broke the heart of Carihi.
And what’s that light in the dark?
It’s Graydon ‘The Sun’ Clark,
Whose sweat brought a tear to my eye.
You can take Aaron’s knee,
Bend it backwards like a willow tree,
But no crutches can keep him off the green;
And who’s that on the right?
He’s a familiar sight;
His diving header made me proud of my genes.
Santiago and Ben,
Inigo and Bryn,
Victor, Tao, Will, Kabir, and Robbie
All played their part,
All men of heart,
All now eyed by SMUS with envy.
Brendan Keirle’s on my front line
He’s annoyed me…um…18 367 times,
But in the final, kids, when we so needed a goal,
Brendan scratched, and he clawed,
Then he chipped, and we awed;
The Keirle went straight for the gold.
Kids, in life there are hurdles,
There are sirens and cannibals,
There are whirlpools that suck boats from the seas;
But through the billowing foam,
One hero sailed us home,
Now we’re all kings, just like Ulysses.
This is by now, I’ve no doubt,
The longest poem, or near about,
That you’ve ever endured in the Bunch.
And now you’re wonderin’
How long I’ll keep going,
And if I can hold out ’til lunch.
But I’m almost done,
And if this seemed long,
This school’s waited 50 years, and then some
To say, “No junior boy is an island,
But if you want, I can find ’em,
Those men they call Island Champions!”
Mr. Paul Collis, Senior Privett Man
Where the boys do toil for goals;
I’ve endured such times
On the sidelines
As would make your blood run cold;
I’ve seen so much,
Coaching from touch,
But the strangest I ever did see?
The Junior Boys 1st XI
Went to AAA Heaven
And brought back the Island trophy.
It starts back in goal,
And keeping ours whole
Was our potty-mouthed goalie so brave;
He giggles like a girl,
Then he dives for that pearl:
The Hooke catches, and, like Jesus, he saves.
All hail to my backline!
No chains adamantine
Could be forged from tougher steel.
Who is my clean sweeper?
He’s Colin: Isfeld’s grim reaper.
And Mark Dayton eats wingers like a meal.
A team’s spine is center-back,
And our backbone was Jacked,
So full of rage for officiating men.
Mon capitaine, mon capitaine?
His name’s Reid Anderson
He puts the man in de manu in manum.
Now let’s talk midfield, please,
Let’s talk Martin Kenklies,
Whose left boot broke the heart of Carihi.
And what’s that light in the dark?
It’s Graydon ‘The Sun’ Clark,
Whose sweat brought a tear to my eye.
You can take Aaron’s knee,
Bend it backwards like a willow tree,
But no crutches can keep him off the green;
And who’s that on the right?
He’s a familiar sight;
His diving header made me proud of my genes.
Santiago and Ben,
Inigo and Bryn,
Victor, Tao, Will, Kabir, and Robbie
All played their part,
All men of heart,
All now eyed by SMUS with envy.
Brendan Keirle’s on my front line
He’s annoyed me…um…18 367 times,
But in the final, kids, when we so needed a goal,
Brendan scratched, and he clawed,
Then he chipped, and we awed;
The Keirle went straight for the gold.
Kids, in life there are hurdles,
There are sirens and cannibals,
There are whirlpools that suck boats from the seas;
But through the billowing foam,
One hero sailed us home,
Now we’re all kings, just like Ulysses.
This is by now, I’ve no doubt,
The longest poem, or near about,
That you’ve ever endured in the Bunch.
And now you’re wonderin’
How long I’ll keep going,
And if I can hold out ’til lunch.
But I’m almost done,
And if this seemed long,
This school’s waited 50 years, and then some
To say, “No junior boy is an island,
But if you want, I can find ’em,
Those men they call Island Champions!”
Mr. Paul Collis, Senior Privett Man