Eoin Molloy is a second-year student of Creative Writing at NUI Galway. This poem combines his love of writing with his other main interest: sport. A native of Galway, Eoin plays hurling for Castlegar.
We pace the tunnel behind the stand
while grown men curse at sixteen-
year-olds-in-shorts from the terrace.
Hear the screech of the crowd,
the crumpling of flying Tayto packets and
the rattling of empty Lucozade bottles.
Give them the blood they bay for.
Forget the dying gladiator being
scraped from the sand-based pitch.
Ignore the mounting crescendo, the tide
of voices that rises in tandem with the sliotar as
it loops over the bar somewhere behind.
– Eoin Molloy