When I was 17

When I was 17
I had some very nice gear
It was some very nice gear for a small town club
Weren’t allowed to wear tights
Our pitch had no lights
Played under 19's
When I was 17


When I was 21
Still had some very nice gear
It was some very nice gear for touring in
Played with lots of flair
I still had some hair
Rugby was so much fun
When I was 21

When I was 35
I had to buy some new gear
It was some very large gear for round shaped guys
Size 38 jeans
Played for the 5th team
Next day was barely alive
When I was 35

But now i can't find my shorts
Not played since autumn last year
And now I think how I ran and broke the line
On these old legs
From Trim to Killybegs
Occasionally there were cheers
Always after were beers

It was a mess of good years

Feeling melancholy.

Sub, hope it's just a passing melancholy.
Pele said of playing in his first World Cup at 17, the only thing wrong with being 17 is it only lasts for a year.
The Anglo Saxons wrote a great many poems on the transitory nature of youth, life and existence. Fragments of which I often find popping into my mind unbidden. There is one in which life is compared to a bird which accidently flies out of the dark night into the feasting hall and is almost overwhelmed by the heat, the colour, the noise of singing and laughing and arguing, the smells of food and beer and then equally as suddenly has flown out the opposite window and is back in the cold darkness.
Again, on how time and the seasons will erode buildings, and people, no matter how we try to buttress them "These things I have shored against my ruin.."
we all get melancholy, some say the answer is to be child-like and live in the moment others say, "Do not go gently into that dark night, rage , rage against the dying of the light."
Me, I'm just about t go to the gym and spend some time with Bigson and hopefully we'll have another match together before the end of the season. Perhaps there might be another season.

Cheers Jimbo.Sinatra came on during my drive home and some of the lyrical changes just popped in to my head. Really miss playing.

Now I'm 49
and all I can do is pine
for those long gone years
of rugby, chicks and beers
and all I have left today
is broken down limbs and bills to pay.

And though I'm 55
I still get to feel alive
Dreaming of tries
under autumn skies
of clouds of honest sweatsteaming
from straining packs ears and forehads vassed and gleaming

as the ball bullets into the tunnel

and eight push as one and the game has begun
again and again
again and again
leaping and sprinting
hitting and hurting
and every collision growing more titanic and epic as the jug goes around.
And the jug goes around and memories soften
and memories blur as waistlines soften
and the day is coming
when my son will say,
"When I was 21 I played alongside my dad,
Ah but those were good days..."

Gents, this is terrific. I can't tell you how many times these thoughts creep in, though not formed as clearly and poetically as you have done.

You know my goal is to play a full on match with my two teenage sons - life is always about setting new goals so we don't get caught in our past. However, as I recover from my neck fusion last October and my elbow dislocation in January as only the latest in an ever increasing series of injuries, I wonder if I will get to my goal. Which makes your post and comments more poignant. Thanks for making my depression worse (only joking, it is doing fine on its own).....

http://www.espn.co.uk/england/rugby/story/216523.html

When I was seventeen
I had the slickest afro, moustache combination ever seen
And now I'm nineteen...
I have the slickest afro sideburns combination ever seen

kingraf wrote:When I was seventeen
I had the slickest afro, moustache combination ever seen
And now I'm nineteen...
I have the slickest afro sideburns combination ever seen

Hopefully the beard kicks in by the time you're 35   

Sub, I have verse envy. Mrs PIp prefers your verses to mine.  

That's wives for you Jim. They say they prefer somebody elses verses to yours but what they actually mean is:
"You got rat arsed last night and forgot to put the bins out this morning"
They're not that complicated once you work out the code.

But Tuesday's bin day.
Oh right Ted...It's a metaphor isn't it?