A prose-poem-song

 

Sportsfans and transfans may be aware of a recent ruling by rowing’s UK governing body to continue to allow athletes born male to compete in elite women’s races, contrary to the rulings in rugby league and union, cycling and athletics.

Personally, I couldn’t care less if someone wants to self-identify differently from their birth sex, their race or even their species.  It’s their right to do so, just as it’s mine to say it’s all nonsense; and that in 20 years time (or perhaps in only 5) they’ll be saying “What on Earth were we thinking?”.

 

She isn’t allowed to ruck with the girls

For things are not as they seem

Neither at club and especially not

With the England Red Roses team.

 

She isn’t permitted to run with the girls

In GB’s Olympian sprints

Since UK Athletics restricted the race

To other traditional bints.

 

And so too from cycling she found she was barred

To speed round the velodrome track

Cos pressed on the saddle the other girls saw

Not quite a conventional crack.

 

She’s found her salvation in rowing it seems

Her oars fitting snug in their rowlocks

I think you’ll have managed to guess at the rest

Di diddle di diddle di dee

 

So she would row, row, row

At the regatta she would row, row, row

No-one could catch her

With her tash and full-face beard

The other women feared

Suspicion grew

She lacked a flue

More evidence appeared.

 

When she would row, row, row

Two kilometres she would row, row, row, row, row

So it came as no shock

When she pulled out her cock

As she would row, row, row.