Getting down and dirty,grass style

• Simon Elsley, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2005

Getting Down and Dirty,
GRASS STYLE

Starting off as just a simple little seed, now this great piece of turf I have become. In my seedling years I dreamt of this moment but never thought it would come. The shinning lights blinding me, the paint so cold and wet. I can see all around the stadium, not a spare seat in the house.

I can feel the ground rumble and the crowd roar, as they take the field. I feel so nervous, but I'm just a piece of the in goal turf. I hear the whistle sound, I can see the ball sailing through the air, it comes so close to me, then someone leaps into the air throughs his arms around it and it is gone. He takes the ball and runs towards the opposition. I can hear the crowd moan as he is lifted and slammed into the turf.

Half time is drawing near and the fullback makes a break down the line, this surely must be the first try of the game. But he is stopped in his tracks by a bone crunching tackle. The hooter wails in the background and all the players trudge off the field with exhaustion.

The crowd waits in anticipation for the second half to begin. All of a sudden you can hear the players footsteps echo as they jog out of the tunnel. The players take their position for the kick off. I see the ball sail once again.

The game is starting to become tackle after tackle until, “they spread the ball wide and the winger sprints nimbly along the touch line, dives, slides, and is over to score”. The halfback places the ball on the tee, the crowd falls silent, his boot sweetly collects the ball, and it rapidly soars closer to the uprights. It starts off left but its coming back, its coming back. It just shaves inside the upright. The scores are soon level with the other team's fullback going over to score a 4 pointer. He scored on the patch of turf right beside me.

The crowd have started the count down 10,9,8. The winger has broken a tackle, he is sprinting down the centre of the field. The fullback is pushing him towards me, I am starting to shake and so is the ground. He is sliding across the line and stops right on top of me. All his team mates ran up and jumped on to of him, kilos and kilos of sweaty, stinky men.

The moment you have just witnessed can be seen once more, at the turf hall of fame in Tamworth, here in Australia.