My Lasting Minutes

Oh, the Northern lads took the field with pride,
Their dreams held high, nowhere to hide.
But the Southern teams came with thunder and flair,
Left them spinning, gasping for air.
Tackled and trampled, each try in vain,
The scoreboard mocked like a downpour of rain.
So back they go, tails tucked and worn,
To plot next year while feeling torn.
For once again, with bruises stout,
The North was in, but quickly out!