SIT UP TONIGHT AND LISTEN

Press, 18 September 1976, Page 10

SIT UP TONIGHT AND LISTEN

By

WHIM WHAM

Black Runners might be fleeter. But Springbok Packs were fatter, We therefore deemed it meeter To grapple with the Latter. We chose our Best and Bravest, We brooked no Opposition — Police, of course, turned out in Force To speed them on their Mission

Black Workers might be dying. White Bosses paid our Way. Bullets in Streets were flying. Fists on the Field of Play. No Shots in Anger struck Us — A Whiff of Teargas, merely — Or a vicious Heel, to make Us feel At Home — or very nearly. The Boer might blindly trample — We bore no angry Banners, Only our bright Example, To mend his racist Manners — All for our sporting Freedoms, And the Glory of the Game! What did We mend and what was the End’ More and Worse, of the Same.

To our rough island Story, We added Naught to please, We fought with little Glory, We damned the Referees. After the final Whistle, What sounds above the Hush? Can a Cheek so bruised next Week be used To bear — an All Black Blush?