Handicap Races by MS
The old fell runner woke from slumbers deep,
From his sticky eyes he rubbed the sleep.
He coughed; he snorted, and gave a fart,
And out of the bed he did start.
A season new about to begin, it starts with the club chases
A series of running events called handicap races.
His name is always top of the list,
Its tradition now he’s never missed.
Away; shouts Grant, Jim clicks his clock,
The old fell runner sets of at a trot.
He is the first to go,
And without a backward glance,
The old fell runner thinks he’s in with a chance.
Now he is the hare the hounds will follow,
He’s puffing hard to make that first hollow.
This race seems longer than last year,
The hounds are catching up I fear.
And then as each one runs past,
They shout encouragement to him. Go fast.
But sadly, as in years gone past,
He ends up in his usual place.
Last.
Now Harry, Irvine and Sean, have all tried to give him glory,
The lengths they’ve gone to to help him win, well that’s another story.
Irvine said, let him start the day before that’ll be all right.
But Harry said no, he’d have to camp out overnight.
Now Sean, he ordered three more beers,
And by this time the lads were in tears.
What can we do to put this right,
Says Harry , at the end of the night.
There’s nothing more we can do I fear
He’s been coming last for years.
Your Running Junkie
MS