Season’s over

Season’s over

For the Williamstown FIDA Seagulls

Peel away the goal post padding, James
Roll up the white flags, Fab
The white coats also
Let the footballs go flat
69 KPA down to zero

Unstrap the first aid kit Marg
Empty the water bottles, too
Stand them upside down
Let ‘em drain, let ‘em dry
Season’s over

Put away the siren, Julie Z
Pack away the scoreboard Joanne.
Maureen, no need to measure the days by 15 minutes
Jacqui, no need to slice those oranges into quarters
Season’s over.
Turn off the pie-warmer, Kate
Wipe the canteen benches clean, Julie P
Empty the bins
Of winter’s litter:
Season’s over

Wash the jumpers one last time, Mr Green
Hang them up one by one
On that long line
Of numbered memories
Let the spring winds dry them
Fold them up one by one
Never as neat as when
Season’s over

Players, loosen the laces of your boots
One last time
Let those boots breathe
Your toes too
Sit on a back step
Knock those boots together
The dirt and the dreams
Falling back to earth

Wipe clear the white board, Rob K
Close the lid on the tin of magnets, Rob C
No need for plans and theories
For arrows and circles and set plays
The days are yours now
For the taking

Nick, Frankie, stack away the cones and witches’ hats,
Bull, Keith and Paul, no need for drills and skills and laps.
Season’s over

Col, Peter, put away your whistles.
You can breathe easy now.
No-one calling you the things they sometimes call you.

Lance, put away that clipboard
No ground inspections for a few months
And no coaches’ benches to haul back into the clubrooms
With your Dad and your son
And other helping hands

Pack away the no-smoking signs
They can spend summer in the clutter of that cupboard

Helen, Col, put down your cameras
You can focus on other things for a while

Let the oval’s white lines fade the boundary line –
that border
Between reason and fever

Let the goal square loose
Let the 50 metre ark disappear
No players two-by-two in there now
No lions, no tigers, no dogs, no cats
No seagulls
No flood of football’s emotions

Let the painted centre circle
Fade into the cricket pitch
Soon to be rolled by Corey and Burger
Soon to test the skills
Of batsman and bowler
Footy season’s over.


Old Footy and brush and polish

Synthetic grass


  1. Nailed it Vin. ‘And giving up and hoping again’. Now, if i could only stop the thoughts in the dark recesses of my mind about what could have been and what might be coming. Maybe clubs could offer their supporters end of season therapy where all of footy’s mind meanderings could be wiped until at least the New Year.

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