Up The Blackcaps, A Prayer

His Natty Highness, Cap of Black

Bless our soldiers, bless our pack

Grant us form and faith and nerve

And help us claim what we deserve

May Tim and Trent find sharp late swing,

May Danny dot ‘em up with spin,

May Prince Kane bat and bat ‘til dark,

May Brendon launch ‘em out the park,

May Rossco crush a few slog sweeps,

May Marty blast that new ball deep,

May Grant wake up with no accent,

May Hess stand tall on box or step.

Let Ronchi Kong be big and strong,

And catch whatever comes along.

Let Corey bat and bowl and bat,

And Mitch’s hair not get too flat.

May Milne hurl fire at 150 clicks,

May our captain bring his bag of tricks

May we field with intensity, passion and grace,

May we take full advantage of our powerplays.

May the sponsors be kind and gift ol’ McMillan,

A freshly fried box of Kentucky Fried Chicken,

May some lucky punter reach out and acquire

A one-handed catch in bright orange attire

To merciful Natty Mac, we offer this prayer

As for a quarter final, we do prepare

Please let the weather be fine but with cloud

And the decibels flow from the Wellington crowd

Oh, holy deity of New Zealand Cricket

Please let there be just enough life in the wicket

In your Rastafied name do we make this conceit,

May we claim a great victory instead of defeat.

Up the Black Caps.