When the going gets tough,
The Brits talk Sport…
Hit, kicked, bounced, flounced
Fouled, caught, fraught.
You have to admire our national spirit-
No matter the contest,
We think we can win it.
And when we have failed
Again and again,
Angrily berated the streams of men,*
We polish our pride
Rearrange our expression
And re-focus our minds
On this cultural obsession,
Proving again to the world and his folk
That Englanders can take a joke…
Or, failing that, a sarcastic quip
As though to avail that Stiff Upper Lip.
Lately, with hands on hearts -and hips –
It seems quite likely we’ve had our chips.
No longer the blind-sighted vocal majority
More, the disconsolate, reduced in authority,
Waiting, wondering, worrying, vexed
At what the hell’s going to happen next.
In sporting battles sore defeated-
With similar fates elsewhere repeated,
Leaders deciding they don’t want the job,
Even though it pays a few bob-
An office; a house in the centre of Town;
Why not seek the crown?
Is it the Being Held To Account
That’s causing front-runners to dismount?
Is it the wages, restricted expenses,
Causing this rise of personal defences?
Or is it a simple need for transparency
-The need to be accountable to plain folk like me…?
Or is it, in truth, the realisation
They’re not really willing to govern the nation;
Surrender their privacy, lives and times
To enter a world of rhetorical landmines;
To take on a role that is currently abhorred
And may just require one
To fall on a sword?
*At the time of going to press, high profile women slightly harder to find…