The sun was just receding

Past the building on the crest

While the battered boys of the 9th XV

Faced their final greatest test.

The season neared completion,

Their defeats read like a list

(The only thing they'd beaten

was a Knox team with their fists.)

Their opponents were the sevenths,

Undefeated in the comp.

With socks and chins and egos up,

this game would be a romp.

But the ragged rugged Last Fifteeners,

Had other things on their mind

With a half of "catch - up football"

They were just three points behind.

With the odds stacked against them

These deadbeats hopes were high,

Their passes stuck, their kicks were keen

As the light dimmed in the sky.

"Come on, we're the 9th XVers!"

Was the forwards' shouted urge,

While the pack of rugby rejects

Made a record 12 yard surge.

The whistle blew - 9th XV's feed

Time and tide had swung their way.

Mr Whealing, looking at his watch

Said "This is the final play."

Sutton fed and claimed the Gilbert,

Then served it with a sweep,

The breakaways supported

So the line was nine men deep.

The sevenths were caught napping,

Their line was open wide,

Chook Fowler drew and passed it

To the player at his side.

Now Birmingham collected

And he stepped 'round his defence,

The 9th XV were firing

With their overlap immense.

The only way to use it

Was to run it on or pass

Yet Birmo took an option

That was nothing less then farce.

As his supporters called the football

Birmo shaped to kick.

Spectators and onlookers

Tipped a dummy or some trick.

But the boot went on the leather

And the ball bounced through the clover,

End over end it crossed the line,

The game and dreams were over.

The sun had set on the 9th XV,

They walked off tired and sore

But the legend of that option

Will be heard for ever more.

Anon.