The Spirit in the Centaurs
There's a spirit in the Centaurs that words cannot describe, it's as if they had descended from some legendary tribe. There’s a kinship, a tradition
As in days so long since past,
Of crusades, of knights in armour
And of men before the mast. There’s a thrill you can’t appreciate
A pride you cannot tell,
Lest you wear a Queens Cricket cap
And you wear it really well. Wh
en you bowl that inswinging yorker and the stumps go cartwheeling back, and our batsman, when when runs are needed, hits a mighty zack. When you tuck one down to fine
And you hit that winning run,
When you take that vital outfield catch
And your team mates say, ‘well done’. But it isn’t just the winning
Nor the scoring nor the cheers,
It’s the friendships and the memories
That last you through the years. It’s the camaraderie
That’s born of valour not of fame,
It’s the sheer exhilaration
When you play this cricket game!
