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On the Scrapheap

David Capey

Wednesday, April 10th, 2002

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Toiling in the lower leagues,
Division two, division three.
A stadium that needs repair,
Money spent that isn’t there.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Players wages put on hold,
No hot water, only cold.
Floodlights dimmed to cut the cost,
Of one too many games you’ve lost.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 Administrators pull no punches,
Cut out all directors lunches.
Sack all staff who needn’t be,
Upon this sinking ship at sea.

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 The Conference is calling loud,
You can’t escape the falling crowd,
Players heads drop straight away,
As once again, it’s not their day.

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 Excuses fill the boss’s mind,
As bits of luck, he tries to find.
But no star player’s shining through,
for no one’s borrowed, no one’s new.

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 And on the final day but one,
Your season ends as it begun.
Defeat, despair, no concentration,
Finally, your relegation.

7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 The groundsman switches off the lights,
And bitter fans cry into pints.
The club, it’s heart and soul is shattered,
For them, this love, is all that mattered.

© David Capey 10/4/02

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/on-the-scrapheap/