So here we go. PS... I think he uses these subliminal messages to pass on wise words to me. Just to let you know Bruv... I hear you.
THE ANGLING MATCHMAN
Anglers that fish matches are a
curious breed,
Some like to follow, some love to
lead.
Be they good or bad, lady or lad,
They all rue the luck they never had.
Every single one is fiercely loyal to
club and teams,
They know their fears and dream their
dreams.
From the loveliness of summer days,
Through autumn and it’s misty, frosty
greys.
Then that bleak and icy winter hell,
Those frosty, crunchy walks they know
so well.
Their jokes and banter still abound,
Unwavering optimism all around.
They approach the challenge of each
match,
Each of them pray to land that
special catch.
They hope each time for a winning way,
That this will be their “ Red Letter
Day”.
“Silver fish or carp”, they are heard
to say,
“Which method should I use today”.
Firstly, they gather together,
usually at a cafe or pub,
They fill their stomachs with plenty
of grub.
The favourite fry up usually fills the bill,
They can’t resist and eat their fill.
Now as the draw looms near they begin
to feel the heat,
It’s all looking around to see who
they have to beat.
Mickey taking banter, now fills the
air,
Some managing to smile while others,
just glare.
A mixture of a few lucky sods and
quite a lot of unlucky bods,
Their chances are now in the “Lap Of
The Gods”.
Which of them will feel that, good
luck charm,
Which of these anglers has the
“Golden Arm”.
This is also the time that their
thoughts and fears,
Can reduce a few of them to tears.
Will this day offer them “Doom And
Gloom”,
Or go lucky and all out for “Bust Or
Boom”.
The matchman’s confidence can very
quickly die,
Sometimes it happens in the blink of
an eye.
The draw now done, they have an
inkling of their fate,
If they’re not now ready then it’s
too late.
Is it to be a long quickstep out to
their lot,
Or just a short waltz to see what
they’ve got.
Will they be plagued by a mass of very
thick weed,
Or will their swim be closed in by
rushes and reed.
Faith in their ability now swings
wildly between high and low,
They are never quite sure, which way
it will go.
Tackle has been made up, the swim has
now been read,
Do they have a chance, or in their
mind, are they already dead.
Having now decided whether to start
on the float or the tip,
Have they chosen wisely? Is it right
for this trip?
So many things now spring to mind,
Will fate be good? Will fate be kind?
So many choices can turn out wrong
along the way,
So many ways to spoil their day.
As “All in” is called, each glances around
from left to right,
“My God, this pegging is much too
tight”.
It’s now their nightmares spring to
mind,
They never seem funny and never seem kind.
Seeing themselves thrashing away and missing each
bite,
Glancing around seeing others,
romping out of sight.
Then it’s hooking each fish but
losing each fight,
All the while glancing madly, from
left to right.
They imagine their feeding, wrong for
the day,
Forever changing tactics and losing
their way.
Then it’s snapping their line and
even breaking their pole,
Then losing the shoal and saying
goodbye to their goal.
Seeing the next peg angler hitting
his bite,
Secretly wishing that he will lose
that fight.
At every draw you want to bag that
“Flier Swim”,
Hoping this time it’s you, but no,
it’s him.
Another angler has that much sought
“Golden Arm”,
Again, he has that elusive “End Peg Charm”.
Some think he may have the devil’s
pact,
While others even swear he has,
in fact.
But reality shows a different trait,
His success is not merely down to
fate.
Agility, experience and info from the
other guys,
Has helped this matchman,
become really wise.
Hard work, preparation and practice
was his way,
To identify the right methods on the
day.
Confident that his methods are right
for the match,
He sticks with it and soon, he builds
up his catch.
Each fish dropped in the net will add
to his bag,
He stays, oh so calm, never swears or
loses his rag.
Cool and reliable he knows he is “The
One To Beat”,
Let’s call this angler “Matchman
Pete”.
Every matchman has his dream,
To end the match, like the cat, who
got all the cream.
He lives for the day he’s done
everything right,
He hooks every fish and wins every
fight.
He is loves every minute it makes him
feel great,
He now weighs in his catch, a
magnificent weight.
Has Pete won his match, he still not
quite sure,
His time spent packing up, is just
one big blur.
With his head in the clouds, he’s
walking on air,
He’s given his all with nothing to
spare.
So excited, he runs all the way back
to HQ,
On his arrival he finds he’s only one
of a few.
Amid applause, he picks up the pool and
then takes his prize,
Safe in the knowledge, that no-one,
can now take the rise.
The rest of his team will now feel
his heat,
They all know that Pete, is the one
they must beat.
He puffs out his chest and stands up
real tall,
Disliked by a few but respected by
all.
As author of this poem I have one
thing to say,
Remember this all you matchmen, when
you come out to play.
No matter how good you think you are,
Without help from your mates, you
won’t get very far.
So try to help each other, here and
there,
Confidence and success, should be there,
for all to share.
What will be the outcome for each of
you.
We all need help from time to time,
help each other and be a good sport.
Share all your knowledge and walk the
“Walk Of Fame”,
Or keep it all to yourself and soon
walk that “Walk Of Shame”.
Keep passing on your knowledge and
experience to each and all.
Ensuring the future of our Match
Fishing.
Gordon Rowland 10th Aug 2014
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