Football Poets

Shels 0 KR Reykjavik 0 – The Home Leg Medley

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 The Ad for the Match

¶ 2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 The ad for the match was direct and explicit –
“Come early to avoid disappointment.”
So I got up quite early in case I should miss it,
And rubbed on my favourite ointment.

¶ 3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 I dashed down to Tolka excitedly when
My joints were with ointment anointed.
And the ad told no lies, for by twenty to ten,
I wasn’t the least disappointed.

¶ 4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Wesley Wesley Houlihan

¶ 5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 The ball comes to Wes and he traps it with ease,
Round the crowd there’s a bit of a buzz.
He skips o’er a leg like a straw in the breeze,
With a roar of approval from us.

¶ 6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 He checks and he turns and he cuts back inside,
And another opponent’s left groping.
By now all supporters are bursting with pride,
Urging and willing and hoping.

¶ 7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 But the final defender slides in with a foot,
Determined that Wes won’t get past him,
And Wes, dispossessed tries tackling back, but
Some fools in the crowd only blast him.

¶ 8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 “Why didn’t you pass it when you had the time?
Why can’t you hold onto possession?
Losing the ball is akin to a crime!”
They rail at artistic impression.

¶ 9 Leave a comment on verse 9 0 Why must we discourage the tiny percent
Who’ve reached football’s greatest attainment?
The few for whom talent must be heaven-sent,
The few who provide entertainment.

¶ 10 Leave a comment on verse 10 0 An Unholy Opponent

¶ 11 Leave a comment on verse 11 0 Petr Podzemsky, the number eighteen
In Reykjavik’s black and white strip
Would not be well-known in our own soccer scene,
His name’s not on every fan’s lip.

¶ 12 Leave a comment on verse 12 0 But I watched him last night with a mistrustful eye,
I glared at each devious run,
For, unlike his teammates from latitudes high,
He’s not a traditional “son.”

¶ 13 Leave a comment on verse 13 0 Was he, like Macduff, from his own mother’s womb,
Grossly and untimely ripped?
Or does he reside in a sinister tomb
Beneath the stone walls of a crypt?

¶ 14 Leave a comment on verse 14 0 Of what devil’s work is this creature a spawn?
Do those sinister eyes have a soul?
But whatever he is, and however he’s born,
He still couldn’t notch them a goal.

¶ 15 Leave a comment on verse 15 0 Jason’s Misses

¶ 16 Leave a comment on verse 16 0 Psychologists say that you’re never the same,
When you find out just what wedded bliss is.
What chance has mere football compared to love’s flame,
When you’re constantly showered with kisses?
So last night the newly-wed shouldered the blame,
And the obvious reason for this is –
He’d chances a-plenty to settle the game,
So we’re pretty irate at his missus.

¶ 17 Leave a comment on verse 17 0 Probably the Shortest and Bitterest Ever Football Poem Composed During the Four Long Minutes of Injury Time When I was Certain That the Icelanders would Sneak a Totally Undeserved Goal and Snatch the Tie from our Grasp Just Like Hibernians of Malta Had Done Two Years Previously

¶ 18 Leave a comment on verse 18 0 Reykjavik
Make ya sick.

¶ 19 Leave a comment on verse 19 0 The Ghosts of Tolka

¶ 20 Leave a comment on verse 20 0 The ghosts were all out in Tolka last night,
As glory and Hadjuk Split beckoned,
And though they were careful to stay out of sight,
Their presence was felt every second.

¶ 21 Leave a comment on verse 21 0 They guided our players and focussed their minds,
Breathed fire in their hearts and their tackles.
The Reykjavik lads’ inescapable binds
Were truly ethereal shackles.

¶ 22 Leave a comment on verse 22 0 The big disappointments of Tolka nights past
Were with that performance well banished,
And when the long whistle was sounded at last,
They raised a clenched fist and then vanished.

¶ 23 Leave a comment on verse 23 0 Wednesdae Delight

¶ 24 Leave a comment on verse 24 0 Pat went to Iceland, and scoured the freezers,
So tempting and brightly lit.
And there, between ice-pops and frozen Maltesers,
He picked up a Hadjuk Split.

¶ 25 Leave a comment on verse 25 0 Animal!

¶ 26 Leave a comment on verse 26 0 My son says I’m a little rat, whene’er I grass him up.
My wife says I’m a little pig when slurping from a cup.
My mum says I’m a little deer [when helping out, of course]
But after last night’s shouting, well, I’m just a little horse.