• A Thousand Fathers
    Victory has a thousand sires, Of credit each claims portion. Defeat’s progenitors are unknown, The poor mite is an orphan. The Winning Team’s supporters “We really were the Twelfth Man today – Throughout the match kept up our deafening roar. Even when the Lads were two down. For we don’t only sing when we’re winning, […]
  • The Viola in Yellow
    Why do they call them the Viola? It isn’t so easy to see. For they are not playing in viola, They’re playing in yellow it seems. Well, I forked out twenty-five euros To watch Viola playing tonight, But find them all decked out in yellow, It somehow just don’t seem quite right. Their shirts are […]
  • In the Mists of Time
    Born in nineteen sixty-two, I still have hazy memories Of our Triumph four years later: Staring at the black-white screen, Chanting “We’ve won the Cup!”, Not fully comprehending why the fuss. And if I peer into the avenir, I can likewise vaguely discern Visions of future success: An England Captain, his features blurred, As is […]
  • The Seven Sorrows
    The first sorrow is of the Gaffer, Who promised so much, But whose reputation now lies in tatters. The second sorrow is of the keeper, Whose bungled save derailed the Campaign Before it had time to get underway. The third sorrow is of his team-mates, Who quake at the thought of flying home To face […]
  • In your Pomp
    Now you are in your pomp. The ball is at your feet, And life is a romp. Fame and fortune are yours. Only training is a chore. Cars and cash, gravy and girls, Camera’s flash and wild social whirl. This is your heyday, your payday, your prime – Suck the last drop from this fruit-laden […]