Fielding An Illegible Player
I
thought at first it must be a slip of the tongue
A
simple error that anyone could make
But
as the marmalade congealed upon my toast
I
heard him explain some more about it
And
I better understood what it was that he was saying
When
he announced that my local club
Would
be punished with a points deduction
A
reprimand and a swingeing fine
It
appeared the team had broken the rules
And
fielded what he said was an illegible
player
Which
is a rather different thing
And
as the sports reporter’s voice carried on
The
breakfast table faded before me
And
I was transported back to the touchline
From
where I’d watched on Saturday last
And where I’d sought in vain to
spot the winger
His whereabouts were uncertain,
if not obscure
I just couldn’t make him out at
all
A
pass went out to him, to run down the wing
In
an attempt, perhaps, to defeat the off-side trap
But
he just wasn’t there, and the ball ran into touch
His
position being indecipherable
His
off-the-ball movement unreadable
He
was totally anonymous in the game
Occupying
a lacuna of space out on the right
An
unseen presence, missing in action
His
role in the side no more than a mystery
The
meaning something I couldn’t even guess
The
room swam sharply back into focus
With
the shelf and the radio all present
The
toast still soft and buttery in my hand
My
mug of tea gone cold and un-drunk
And
the announcer now on a different story
Having
moved on from the offence and investigation
To
the scores elsewhere in the league
I’m
still not sure that I’d heard him quite right
But
upon more sober reflection
I
think he’d used the right word after all
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