Football Poets

No joy at Old Trafford- again.

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Oh this grim foreboding
But we knew
About the West Ham
Dread of Old Trafford
Now almost as hoaxed
As Anfield
Yet another cataclysm
As the clocks go back
So too do
The claret and blue
Brigade
When time stopped then
Started
Another retrograde step
One step forward against
Bournemouth, then
Much further back in
Manchester, United
They stand, slowly
Re-surfacing and
The first cries of rejuvenation
Under Ten Hag, Erik to you
And football’s fascinated
Observers casting yet
More critical eyes
Over the sleeping giant
In recent years
Never the same
Since Fergie time
Called it a day
No more chewing gum
Little tolerance for the
Sloppier side of the game
But the Hammers once
Again fell awkwardly
On their feet at Manchester
United,
Almost there but not quite
Tantalisingly close
But such words don’t
Meet the criteria of
Three points
For the Happy Hammers
Benrahma still stylish but
So near and yet so far
On the threshold of victory
At OT. Sadly deprived
By the world class excellence
Of De Gea, magisterial
Saves when West Ham
Looked as though they might
But then the red carpet whipped
Away by Red Devils
United far from fabulous
But opening gradually
And breathlessly from
The ordinary seasons
Of static, stasis
Neither here nor there
Like orchids once withered
But whose petals now emerge
Red as carnations perhaps
Shivering in wintry winds
But Manchester United
At the developmental stage
Mighty under Fergie
One Premier League after
Another
A sequence of dizzy euphoria
But Marcus Rashford established
Even sturdier building blocks
The foundation stone in place
Bulleting home headed winner
West Ham sent home empty
Handed once again
Soucek check mated once again
Declan, a shining bulb
In the dim depths of Hammers
Glowering darkness
Victories at Old Trafford
Like the three buses that
Never came,
Seemingly blossoming
At the London Stadium
But stagnant, dormant
As a claret and blue volcano
About to blow up and impose
Stunning exhibitions at the
Old Upton Park
Destined never it would appear
To be ready for something
Resembling positivity
Where once Paolo De Canio
Steered home the winner
In the FA Cup
As Barthez reminded
Us of the Heathrow
Air traffic controller
The United keeper
With convincing offside
Claim, arm raised
But never recognised
And then there was the final
Curtain call at Upton Park
When Winston Reid
Memorably wrote his signature
Winning goal for the Irons
Closing the book on the old
Boleyn, how Anne would
Have been so proud
So boisterously loud
And certainly not under a cloud
West Ham bobbing in mid table
Anonymity, not really anywhere
At the moment,
Those shadows and parodies
Of last season’s former selves
Unbeaten in Europe
But under domestic servitude
Looking up at the Premier League
Keeping company
With the lower sculleries rather
Than the moneyed and entitled ones
With their upwardly mobile airs
Above them
The affluent elites
In their comfy seats
Hammers mid table bound
Marooned and trapped
And simply struggling to
Make sense of contrasting
Shades of recent season
Exertions and strivings
When European air tickets
Were confirmed
But then
As World Cup combat looms
We may hope for claret
And blue bottles of cheer
A glass of Chardonnay
To wipe the bitterness of
Old Trafford sourness
From the discerning palates
Of claret and blue fans
Now accustomed to the
Pools coupon mentality
Win one, lose one
Oh how can this keep
Happening, like an annoying
Habit, like the tapping of
The fingernails on pub coasters
Restless, impatient, waiting
For a hat-trick of Premier League
Triumphs, that’ll be the day
Pour me another lager, barman or woman
The creeping, surging, dull ache
Of losing, then the uplift of another win
Emotions scarred, torn
Pieces of A4 paper
Like the confetti that rained
Down on Argentina’s World Cup
In 1978
West Ham defeated at
Old Trafford yet again
Oh anguish for breakfast,
Lunch, then for tea and supper
When will three points
Ever happen again

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