If Kpiling Was At The Waca

If you can keep your bat when all about you
Are losing theirs for nought ‘protecting’ you,
If you can trust yourself when coaches doubt you,
But make allowance for their cod-calls too;
If you can wait and not be stressed by waiting,
And, being dissed, don't deal in disrespect,
And, being slated, don't give way to slating,
And yet don’t gloat at those who can’t select.

If you can spin a dream ball like the master
And bowl him too, and blunt that Aussie’s aim,
If you can meet Disaster and Disaster
And laugh and add a Five For to your name,
If you can bear to hear that name mis-spoken
By commentators, pundits, toffs and fools
And watch the chance you span your team to, broken,
And turn, and spin again with worn-out tools:

If crowds that jeer you, never jar your virtue,
If crowds that hail you king don’t halt your touch,
If neither Poms nor Aussie foes can hurt you,
If records count with you, but not too much;
If you can fill the series-losing innings
With finger spinning glory and some runs,
Then England’s yours and everything that's in it,
And, Pan EH Sar, you’re the Man, my son.