Play up! play up! and play the game!


The thing about trust is, despite all the bits that are grey in between, it is pretty simple. Or at least it ought to be. Like flicking a light switch on and off. Some of the grandest heartaches in life usually rear their ugly heads when trust is decimated. Magnitudes of this pain are several factors higher when trust is systematically decimated. Of course no heartache is more painful than the one that involves the ones you love.

For individuals unfortunate enough to have experienced such meticulous obliteration of trust, it is somewhat paradoxically and deliriously delightful to be able to trust again. Perchance you are a lucky one to have escaped such terrible and dreadful malaise of life; then on the flip side you most certainly are very unlucky not to know just precisely how it feels to be able to trust again. One might argue it is an irrational point of view but it is a valid of point of view nonetheless. Life is a wonderfully epic journey simply because of the experiences and emotions one encounters – bad or good. Be assured there is no other feeling better than the sense of sheer relief and utter gusto one feels when failures of the past are finally overcome and success is tasted. It is one of the most delightful and bittersweet of feelings.

The most important lesson is not to give up. Play up! play up! and play the game.

Sir Henry John Newbolt knew it and we will all do very well to remind ourselves the importance of just playing the game and not giving up… be it love, be it life, be it a simple game of Cricket…

There’s a breathless hush in the Close to-night—

Ten to make and the match to win—

A bumping pitch and a blinding light,

An hour to play and the last man in.

And it’s not for the sake of a ribboned coat,

Or the selfish hope of a season’s fame,

But his captain’s hand on his shoulder smote—

“Play up! play up! and play the game!”

The sand of the desert is sodden red,—

Red with the wreck of a square that broke;—

The Gatling’s jammed and the Colonel dead,

And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.

The river of death has brimmed its banks,

And England’s far, and Honour a name,

But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks:

“Play up! play up! and play the game!”

This is the word that year by year,

While in her place the school is set,

Every one of her sons must hear,

And none that hears it dare forget.

This they all with a joyful mind

Bear through life like a torch in flame,

And falling fling to the host behind—

“Play up! play up! and play the game!”

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