𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐦𝐩𝐲𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐏𝐗 𝐍𝐚𝐠 𝐄𝐬𝐪

WHAAT... you’re pulling me out of my yard at sparrow’s fart to be an Umpys horse. Do you know who I am?


HELP!.... Where’s the ole girl. She can’t possibly know about this. Bugga, I bet she was on a promise last night and she’s still non compos in her Goosey. Yep, thought so. I can hear her snoring.

OK OK let’s get this done and over with. At least its first game and not many spectators make it this early after a skinful the night before.

Just have a look at this joker... Hung over, overweight, dirty white jeans that he’s obviously slept in. And if you so much as touch me with those spurs I will drop you faster that you can open your first can of Bundy on a Saturday night.

How much worse can it get. He’s not even going to put on put my custom-made bandages or plait my tail. I have a reputation to uphold here. Do you hear me. And that is NOT my saddle. Bloody ell. How do you ride in it. Jeez... This is gonna kill my back and I haven’t even had my breakfast yet.

Here we go. Lets get this over with. Oh the shame. Up the field...Down the field... Boring...Boring. Thinking back though. I remember seeing The Grey Bitch earlier, all plaited and booted. Maybe this might not be so bad after all. At least a bit of eye candy to google at.

YES. There she is and oh joy. She’s in the number one spot... At last, I can put her right back in her place after all the teasing and taunting she’s put me through.
“Get back behind that line!” Oh, the karma. I know she wants me. I can tell but she can’t have me. Maybe later HA HA

Have you ever noticed how the players eyes change when there in the line up? All smiles till that ball is just about to fly through the air. Then hell. Its on. Elbows, racquets and knees. All ending up where they shouldn’t. Not to mention US. The stars of the show. If you’re going to reach high for the snap. Don’t pull us from here to next weekend.

So on with game. Bloody ell Umpy. Are you still drunk or totally blind. If that wasn’t a wild swing, then Ill eat your helmet. I reckon if I could blow a whistle, I could do a darn better job than half these Umpys. I mean even I could tell that was over the line.
.
It’s almost over thank goodness. You know this umpiring lark isn’t that bad after all. At least you get a chance to eye up the opposition, check out the young fillies and boys, if you fancy that sort of thing. I don’t. Give me a well-rounded bum and good legs any day.

Yep. Final whistle. As soon as this looser gets off my back, the sooner I can get back into my yard. Have breakfast and tell Brownie about this useless Umpy. He couldn’t ride, couldn’t throw a straight ball if his life depended on it and look at him now... I don’t believe it... He’s throwing up in MY yard...

Where’s the ole girl cos I’m not happy. After all the years, I’ve looked after her and she subjected me to that.

Yeh. Don’t worry about hosing me down. Just get out of my sight and crawl back to where you spent the night.

NOOOO.. He’s climbing into the ole girls Goosey.
So that was her promise. You know ole Brownie doesn’t look that bad after all.

A huge thank you to Julie Morris for sharing this absolute ripper of a read with us.