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HOCR

The heat is all gone, the wind has turned chill,
But before we can lock the shed doors
One more race to embrace
The spirit, the bluster
The crew, the shell and the oars.

So under the colours of autumn and mater
We push ourselves up to the start
Where warm up and prayer and confidence bolster
The mind, legs, torso and heart.

Oh how we persuaded ourselves and our crew mates
That we had trained enough,
But before the first Beach had gone past our blades
Our lungs are sounding rough.

Then the straight starts acoming
And coxswains are brimming with tactics and technique and lies
“We’re definitely flying! the others are dying!
Now sit back, and drive down those thighs!”

Now there’s big moment coming, the crowd are a humming
It’s a mental respite from the burn
But check traffic, check steering ,check landmarks
Stop veering, its crucial - of course its Weekes turn

We’ve all seen the pictures, the film clips the paintings
Of carnage, the shipwrecks the action
Of race plans and winners if coxes misjudge
The Weekes line by just a bare fraction

But we’re through raise a cheer and the rating
The course is abating we’ve more than half this thing done
Then straight through the pain, comes a simple refrain
Was this race not supposed to be fun??

Here the river is wider, there’s a gap in the trees
Take care lest the eight sideways blown
Wipe the sweat from your eyes, and hold your head still
Stare sternwards, ask “has that gap grown?”

The crews there, your opponents all vying to rob you
of medals, of titles and more
But rowing’s not warfare, they’re more friends than foe there
You’ll share beer and handshakes ashore.


At Cambridge the announcers will call you past their dock
Saying more words than any human should
So row long for the webcast and for once be in time
so that the commemorative photos will look good


The last stretch is crucial, and painful, and drags
whatever you’ve given - find more
At the line you want the feeling
Whilst your head is reeling that you absolutely couldn’t have given more

so before ice shuts the river and the city battens down
And the winds from the north make their snarls.
Head up, breathe deep, drive the legs ten more times
And a toast to the Head of the Charles.

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