A Bowlers Lament

Twas on a bright September morn, and without much fuss,
Our bowls club set off to Devon by bus,
The driver was amazed as could be,
Thinking, their average age must be 93,
He didn't know of the hard inner core,
Of these aged players that would rise to the fore,
That would show their real spirit the very next day,
When they arrived at Much Banter ready to play,
When driving winds and torrential rain,
Would not be allowed to spoil their game.

So, undaunted, when surveying the scene,
First viewed when stepping out on the green,
At the sight of the rinks that awaited us there,
Unless it was to sigh, and then to despair,
At the sight of the gullies, the dips and the bumps,
The patches of mud and grass scattered in clumps,
Their Captain, on seeing my horrified face,
Said "don't worry, it's not such a bad place",
"It plays well when you know it", he said with a smile,
"But to work all that out might take you a while".

Well, just in an effort to make things far worse,
The rain just increased to make players curse,
And to those in club shirts and some dressed in shorts,
It put sunny days and dry clothes in their thoughts,
But never the less, they bravely played on,
Till every last vestige of dryness was gone,
And the bowls struggled on in search of the jack,
Spray spinning from puddles that now held them back,
We played out eight ends while the rain it just poured,
I'm not even going to mention the scores,
Then we stopped, and all rushed in for tea,
Inside in the warm where we wanted to be,

We were plied with hot tea, scones, jam and cream
While our shirts and our trousers started to steam,
Then the Captains conferred looking up at the sky,
And hopefully said "It's starting to dry",
We were given the choice, as both Captains exclaim,
Stay inside in the dry or go back out again,
Well, we gazed out on skies looking blacker than ever,
And foolishly said, 'What!, and be beaten by weather"?
Now what on earth made us make that stupid reply,
To troop out once more neath grey leaden sky,
How foolish we were to think things might change,
Cos the minute we started it poured hard again,
Then the jacks were rolled out and hopefully we,
Sent out our bowls to where they might be,
With hands dripping wet and numb with the cold,
We failed to find grip on the woods that we bowled,

Five more ends were played out as the rain it just poured,
As we stoics played on and simply endured,
Then the Captains cried 'Stop, we've all had enough",
"It's time to give in and get out of this stuff".
So wet and bedraggled we trooped back in doors,
Our soaking wet shoes leaving mud on the floors,
Then our hosts had the best idea by far,
As they shouted out loud, "We'll open the bar",
Now those who know us, well you all know the score.
For bowlers like us it's what we came for,
With loud shouts of glee in one steaming rush,
They lined up at the bar in one heaving crush,
And as Amber liquid washed away all the pain,
They toasted Much Banter shouting 'We'll be back again".