Art by Mark Conlan https://jamartprints.com/artist/mark-conlan/
This is where the training matters
The hours on end spent out in the cold
Where the times you felt like quitting
Where the times you didn’t quit
This is where it all counts
Where nothing can be left behind
And where you can leave a winner
Or leave broken.
This field is where we play,
Where boys become men and friends become warriors.
This field is where our personal problems
Are left aside and shielded from the world,
Where fear and loneliness
Are turned into drive and passion,
This field is where we play.
Here stands a lad who struggled to speak up
Who goes to the gym everyday
Who trains every day to get better at sports
Who started these because of advice of a friend
He made one summer.
Who changed his life by being more foreword and taking risks
Who made more friends from the advice
Who is going out with a girl he loves.
Who is so glad from the advice
And who will cherish the advice forever.
This is where seasons end and hearts are broken,
This is where goals are achieved and respect is earned,
This is where trainings happen and legends are made
This is the park, the field, the pitch
And this is who we are.
A tiny ball of wet fur crying
If I said I walked on by I would be lying
Abandoned by the ones who didn’t care
He needed love that no one was willing to share
He touched my heart like I never thought he would
More than any person could
He was staying with me till the day he dies
But sadly I think that day is nigh.
Ireland 2022 is the place where you’re told
You can be whatever you want to be
But whatever you want to be is not enough.
Ireland 2022 is the place where homeless people
Line the streets of our capital city in need of help
But are told by people in fancy suits and large salaries
That “we can’t help you”.
Ireland 2022 is the place where crime should
Be afraid of the law but actually
The law is afraid of crime.
Ireland 2022 is the place where families
Have to choose between heating their homes
Or feeding their children.
Ireland 2022 is not the Ireland I want
Nor is it the Ireland that I think we deserve.
This is the place where the cows are milked
This is the place where the soil is turned
Where the silage is cut
This is the place where the sandwiches are made
This is the place where the calves grow up
Where the hands turn old but land turns new
This is the farm, this is the life.
War on the Pitch
The moment where the bodies and the minds are in sync,
When the upstairs is in line with the downstairs,
When the mentality is right no one will stop you,
It’s an insult they have him instead of you.
You die in your boots.
You die on the field.
You go out and beat those f*****s from the spa.
From 1-15 you give it your all.
From the cold winter nights
To the warm summer days
To make our club people proud
Scoring good points
Hitting good shoulders
To climb the big boulder to the finishing line
It’s worth it in the end
And you lift the gold trophy.
Place of Chances, of Losses
The place where
The mind is tormented
On every passing moment.
Where the result can be swayed
By one single moment of
Sheer brilliance or a moment
Of recklessness and stupidity.
Where the crowd can get
Behind you or where they can
This is sport and
It is loved by all.
This is where I come to be free
This is where I come to be me
To feel free
To feel alive
When I puck the ball, to release it all
Overwhelmed with pride and joy
When I put on the jersey.