The Red n Black Rise
For Terrace in their Sesquicentennial Year - By 6.
They laugh when they hear the name—
Terrace.
Once a titan, now a tale.
They speak of mediocrity, of years gone still,
Of boys in red who forgot the will.
Nudgee walks with heavy crown,
Years of thunder, looking down.
Their victories loud, their banners flown,
While Terrace stood, but stood alone.
And Grammar waits atop the hill,
The postcode prize, the bitter thrill.
The clash where pride and postcode meet—
4000 roars beneath our feet.
We’ve been clowned, dismissed, ignored—
Marked by margins on a scoreboard.
But there's fire now where silence sat,
And hearts that thump beneath the hat.
This year, this time, we draw the line—
Not for stats or storyline.
But for brothers past, for boys beside,
For the crest we wear, and the hurt we hide.
We do not beg, we do not boast—
We’ve learned from loss what matters most.
And in this sesquicentennial year,
We rise—not with noise, but with gear.
Let them watch. Let them scoff.
But don’t look away when the red takes off.
For history bends when resolve runs deep—
And the lions of Gregory no longer sleep.
