Birth of a Caffler

Down from the North,
all attitude and statement;
The new boy thrown in
with our hungry Cavan horde.

Those Samson-like locks
hung free and unruly,
so H-Block subversive
in our closely-cropped scheme

But the Rag McCabe said
you were the spit of his sister
and Jack Maguire was vexed
by the bluster of your stride…

At break time you floundered
as credentials were tested
'are ye starting boy, Hoigh?
... Can ye fight boy?'

And as the old master beat a path
through the wild cheering bevy -
scattering untidy bodies,
dispensing harsh justice…

A reputation was born.

^