Heaven – A Groundsman’s Ode

The sweet spring smell of grass fresh mown
As I drive my roller, all alone
There’s this week’s strip to get just right
The perfect bounce, the perfect height
So much to do, so few spare hours
Through wind and sun and scattered showers
I’ll give my soul, my time, my heart
… and now the mower won’t ****** start!

Those holes to fill from last week’s match
Compress the loam, remove the thatch
Seed the ends and fully soak
No water pressure – what a joke
And now the roller just won’t go
I knew the fuel was getting low
Oh no, disaster, the final straw
That can’t be moss that I just saw

Here’s Mrs Jones with her cute Schnauzer
(wish it were a pug – nowt rhymes with Schnauzer!)
Runs ‘cross my square and digs with glee
Then has a poo, then has a wee
“I’m sorry but he’s just a pup”
Guess which mug must clear it up
My hallowed turf is desecrated
Two weeks hard work is almost wasted

Then match day seems to come around
I mark the crease, prepare the ground
The players go and inspect the track
They poke and feel, walk forth and back
Experts all – they have their say
On how it looks, on how it’ll play
But if I give them jobs to do
They haven’t got a bloody clue

The first ball bowled – it bounces true
With even pace- looks good – well phew
There’s nothing more that I can tweak
My mind is thinking of next week
Pretending hard just not to care
But it’s still my baby, still my square
And someone says, “it’s playing well”
And tears of pride they start to swell

The players all in the G & D
There’s dust to sweep and there’s just me
The odd ball reared, and one kept low
So what, there’s next week’s track to mow
But on the whole a good job done
We may have lost, we may have won
I’m working here six days in seven
But deep down it’s my tranquil heaven.

 The groundsman