Over many a quaint and curious sixes and half-volleyed fours,
While I fielded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of Pietersen gently rapping, the rapping from that cheating Boer.
`'Tis some nick,' I muttered, `the tapping of that cheating Boer -
This is truth, of this I’m sure.'
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the searing December,
And each Australian dying batsman wrought his ghost upon a four.
Eagerly I wished the wicket; - truly I had heard him nick-it
From my fielders look of submit - submit for my lost rapport -
For the rare and radiant skill whom the players named rapport-
Shameless here for evermore.
And the brazen sad uncertain gawking of each shocked fielder
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic anger, lying dormant in days of yore;
So that now, to rampant beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some nick on willow, from the cheating Boer! -
Some nick on willow, from the cheating Boer; -
The ball was hit, of this I’m sure'
Presently my anger grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Dar,' said I, `or Hill, truly you are deaf, I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently I heard a tapping,
And so faintly it came tapping, the tapping from that cheating Boer,
That I scarce was sure I heard it' - yet to see that winking Boer; -
Refer it, of this I’m sure.
Deep into the hotspot peering, long listening to the crowd jeering,
Waiting, dreaming victories no captain ever dared to dream before;
But the hotspot was unbroken, and the greyness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `rapport!'
The team they whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `rapport!'
Merely grey and nothing more.
Into the tribunal turning, all my anger within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely I was wrong, in my dissent; I lie
Let me see then, what threat is, losing captaincy I assure -
Let my heart be still a moment, two fifths fines and nothing more-
'Tis was nick, of this I’m sure!'
And the Boer, never walking, still is stalking, still is stalking
And the smug face of Pietersen; that bastard, cheating Boer;
And his eyes have all the daring of a team that be declaring,
And the sunlight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my anger from out that shadow that lies dying on his fours
I shall be captain – nevermore.
Lovingly ripped off from Poe.