For the All Blacks, On the Eve of the World Cup

(with apologies to Rudyard Kipling)

If you can catch the ball when all about you
Are dropping it and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when the public doubts you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can win after all the waiting
(Ignore the doomsayers, just deal in tries)
And, though some hate Poms, don’t deal in hating
Just play your best (and hope Hanson’s wise);

If you can think - how to run that bit faster
If you can dream - and make that Cup your aim;
If you can secure triumph, avert disaster
And always play an honest game;
If you can force heart and nerve and sinew,
Scoring tries long after they are gone
And so play on when there is nothing for you
Except the Crowd which roars “Come on!”;

If you can please the crowd and keep your virtue
Or dine with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither ‘Boks nor Wallabies can beat you,
If all fans count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of kicking done -
Then yours is the Cup and New Zealand with it,
And - which is All - you’ll be a ‘Black, my son!