The Match. the Net. the Ball.

Tension you can cut with a knife. The crowd so divided. Players with limbs so lithe. Three long months since they last collided. Into the circle centre took a step. The whistle was blown. Next instant, the players after the ball leapt. So competitive. So in the zone. Brothers verses Sisters. Husbands verses wives. No Missus or Mister's. Just two teams. Two sides. Wing attack bowled over. Wing defence offside. If your gonna challenge us ever. At least revise the rules, guys! Treating it too much like football, Long shots over head. No short and fast passes of the ball, Like play should be instead. Goal attack sharp and fast. Goal defence big and...just big. Bounce passes needed for our lead to last. Pathetic is their too confident jig. Goal keeper so tall. Solid in defence. Goal shooter so small. Imparts their skill thence. At the edge of the hall. One hundred breaths were held. Now! The three second rule! No closer a stare on that ball could've been held. Up past the keepers wild lunge. High above the net. Before down, down- the plunge. Right through that scraggerly net. Excitement rapidly boiling. Till echoed the explosion. Seven girls with joy squealing. Seven guys in gutted humiliation. But we hold up our hands. At the final score. Your win of that game stands. And your sportsmanship we implore. But come the summer. When we play you again. We'll show no mercy. Even to you our men. Until that fateful day, Peace over our church reigns. After all, the more fun it'll stay. If rare the satisfaction remains.