Little Rock, Arkansas, 1957, and Team Universe
Six years old and I’m in love with the American Dream,
Disney, popcorn, Bugs Bunny jokes and strawberry ice cream,
Bug eyed, chewing Hershey bars, watching movies at the base,
Baseball with the crew cut kid with the freckled southern face,
Trying to teach him soccer and the rules of cricket too,
He told me about Arkansas and I could go there soon,
And this Cold War friendship meant I didn’t see the news –
The news of you Terry Roberts, 16 years old, and incidentally black,
Slowly walking up to the gates of Central High School, Little Rock,
Central High School, Little Rock,
Segregated Black and White September Little Rock,
Better call the National Guard, right there to Little Rock,
Better call the National Guard right there to Little Rock;
But then again, I wonder if they showed that news at the Fairford US Base,
Back in Fairford, Gloucestershire, England, autumn 1957,
For it might big rock the Cold War boat,
Little Rock rock the Cold War boat.
But today, on a spring March day in the year 2002,
I met you and heard you speak,
Doctor Roberts, one of the Little Rock 9,
One of the famous historic Little Rock 9,
The Little Rock 9 who changed history,
And there you stood in front of me,
Tall, lean and handsome,
Just like you were on those iconic newsreels,
All those years ago –
And now there you stood, eminent professor and psychologist,
Telling us how the sunshine South spat its segregated hate into your eyes,
How it kicked and punched and intimidated you,
How it stole your pens and pencils and bags,
How it smeared your seats with peanut butter and glass,
How its lynch mobs left Jim Crow effigies hanging
And twisting from the gibbets and burning on the pyres,
How your American Dream of educating yourself,
Of educating yourself for service and ambition,
Turned into a Good Ol’ Boy American Nightmare;
How the ideology of racism tried to imprison or destroy your spirit.
And now there you stood and told us how the nine of you
Agreed upon a self disciplined necessity,
A self disciplined necessity of turning the other cheek,
Of turning the other cheek,
Into the fists of the race hate mob,
Into the face of the race hate mob.
And you told us how you 9 young women and men,
Self-consciously chose to practice non-violent action,
Non-violent action
In the face of armed white prejudice,
In the teeth of armed white prejudice,
For while it punched and kicked and spat and stole
And burned and hanged,
You stood there, proud and still,
Looking into Hatred’s eyes,
Trying to build bridges,
Trying to include them in your hopes,
For as you said today, when talking of humanity,
“Difference is the only thing we all have in common
Difference is the only thing we all have in common.”
“We are all part of Team Universe”
We are all part of Team Universe.
About This Site
Welcome to Football Poets -- a club for all football poets, lovers of football and lovers of (alternative) poetry. Discover poets in every league from respected internationals at the top of their game to young hopefuls in the school playground.
Publish your football poems here and then discuss them with your team mates and fans. We're archived by The British Library, so your masterpieces are in the safe hands of a world-class keeper. What a result!
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Latest Poems
joe morris
24th March 2023
Gacina Bozidar
22nd March 2023
joe morris
20th March 2023
joe morris
17th March 2023
Denys E. W. Jones
13th March 2023
joe morris
13th March 2023
Clik The Mouse
13th March 2023
Crispin Thomas
11th March 2023
Sharon Jones
11th March 2023
joe morris
10th March 2023
Crispin’s Corner
In Memoriam
Kick It Out & Christmas Truce
Latest Comments
10th February 2023 at 8:45 pm
I misspelt Jimmy’s nickname as it should be Greavsie. Typo !
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5th December 2022 at 8:11 pm
Stuart, you are not alone, in your dichotomy of doubt
but without dissention
you stand alone
in hogging our attention!
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16th November 2022 at 11:04 am
[Football on soiled turf]
This is a wonderful phrase which I shall be using from now on!
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15th November 2022 at 3:54 pm
Well said Crispin. One of the reasons for The Ball 2022/23 is exactly this – that FIFA need to know. The Ball is essentially a petition to FIFA to honour their commitments to the UN Sports for Climate Action Framework. They signed up; they should act. The Qatar tournament takes the World Cup in the opposite direction to that commitment. And 2026 looks like it’ll be even worse.
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8th November 2022 at 2:06 pm
Hi Guys
Re ‘Lets Boycott Qatar ‘ poem
You probably hate me banging on..and problably know (like me) that my/your not watching the World Cup in Qatar will make no difference.
Of course it won’t. That’s not the point.
OK someone might possibly eventually publish a minimal drop in terrestrial TV viewer numbers, but I fear that is unlikely.
But please above all, do go on writing poems about the World Cup, as/you we have always done. I hate to think a poem or two of mine might l make you feel bad about comenting on a game or country …or that I’ve put you all off about wanting to contribute.
So we’d love to hear from you and read your thoughts and observations, as ever on what’s going on.
Some of us have been here since Football Poets website birth/inception for the Euros 2000 ….
All my best wishes
Crispin
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18th October 2022 at 10:06 am
Shoot! (Something we’ve also been screaming in vain at our team all season !)
Great memories Joe . Before Shoot, it was Roy of the Rovers comic too, dropping through my letterbox.
Anxiously waiting each week to see if they survived in the mexcian jungle after an ambush..or a pre-season earthquake!
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3rd October 2022 at 8:32 pm
Thanks for the kind words Sharon. Yes, it was a shame with Billy Shako, but with five subs now being allowed, he might yet make it off the bench. Even if it’s just a cameo to close out a poem.
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2nd October 2022 at 1:49 pm
John, your new book is an absolute delight and more please. It’s a shame ‘Swapping Shirts With Shakespeare’ never made it off the bench, but quality football poets light up the writing fields like Roman candles. Go well.
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4th September 2022 at 12:42 pm
Great memories Greg. Took me right back.
Today I stand on a small terrace in the hills where I live watching Forest Green Rovers in L1, and keep up with Chelsea on highlights. It’s a far cry and a world away from those times when I lived as a child within walking distance of ‘The Bridge’ – just off the Ifield Road, which led to Fulham Road. The Blues were rubbish for so long, but we loved them and somehow we stayed in the old First Division for so many seasons. And of course we got to see Greavesie at his impudent best, scoring goals for fun. Mad unpredictable games where we’d score 4 and let in five.
The looming floodlights in the dark and mist on magic night games. The big games when the ground heaved.
I don’t think we ever realized how magical and incredible it was back then. The atmosphere and arriving there so early – like you said.. just to make sure you got in. Back when Bovril, tea and cake and roasted peanuts for sixpence a back were just about all on offer.
Good times.
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4th September 2022 at 12:37 pm
see above
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