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George Best At Fifty

Nell Farrell

Wednesday, November 30th, 2005

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 We have been estranged for many years
but spent your birthday weekend together
thanks to BBC2.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 I loved you with a tomboy’s passion
mesmerised by your feet;
the left you worked and worked
with a tennis ball
until it obeyed with all the ease
of your natural right.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 Your feet were part of my salvation,
lifting my spirit way beyond
the outstretched hands of blood-stained saints.
Watching those feet,
keeping my eye on the ball
I dodged the defenders of the faith
left them standing, navy blue veils
blowing in the wind.

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Saturdays I wore my brother’s cast-off Stylo boots,
your name scrawled on the side,
and screw-in studs. The laces were so long
there was an art to tying them that boys knew.
I learnt the ‘underneath and round’,
the tying of the final, flamboyant bow.
I was like you then;
flying down the wing, ball glued to my feet,
my brother’s friends saying
“That’s never a girl!”
As they failed to stop me….

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 You were working class and gifted,
uprooted, getting drunk, just like my father.
I prayed your name, with others I collected;
all exiled Celts, the worse for drink
but worthy of respect.
George Best I’d say
and Richard Burton, Richard harris
covering the mouthpiece
when my grammar school friends phoned
so they wouldn’t hear him shouting in the background

© NFo5

Notes

I really like this poem which I came across and re-printred here from Football Pure Poetry 2. It’s written a while back of ocurse but still great. Hi Nell! How are Eastwood Town doing? (I know how Arsenal are doing thanks…,) Crispn

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/george-best-at-fifty/