This November, we welcoming the following new contributors to this site :
Harridaran Muruhathas (‘Daran’)
Robbie Kennedy Bennett
And from the Kick It Out Oxford Workshop (in October) – (OARDFC) Oxford African Refugees & Families Dev Community :
Daniel & Victor
And from the Schools arena, we welcome :
Wynndale Primary School, Year 5, Mansfield
Some examples of their work :
We’re the cyber fans in a virtual stand
Our loyalty’s networked, our faith is broadband
Alone at our desks, a club mouse in our hand
Red and white guardians in a foreign land
The locals may cheer, ev’ry Saturday night
As they crowd to watch every Premier highlight
But they’ll never know of the subtle delight
Of Crabbers being cheeky from the Stadium of Light
The forum’s alive, if it’s night or it’s day
From Warsaw and Sydney – god, even Whitley Bay!
“Should Tommy go?” and then “Should Arca stay?”
Wherever you are, it’s open – have your say
So spare a thought for us exiles everywhere
No Kings Arms or Rosedene or Barnes is there
To meet up before, and suitably ‘prepare’
We’ll just listen at home, with a can, in a chair.
© Peter Stamp
Every match day, Sunderland exiles keep in touch with their club on Message Boards, Football Forums, or by listening to networked match commentary by Crabbers (Simon Crabtree) and (Lord) Gary Rowell. We’re there in spirit(s) though!
I’ve seen it all…
The time-honoured baptism: father and son
Enwrapped in hats and gloves and waving scarves.
That was my dad and I on the terrace chanting
For Stevie’s red and blue army half after half.
It was Bright and Wright back then, where now
It’s Dougie, Clinton and Kuqi. We’ve been up, been down
A few times since then – the deep-felt indignation
When decisions go the opponent’s way. The frustration.
A new man at the helm, we’ll win a game or two,
And then it’s back to the suffering, the disappointment.
A scalp now and then stretches hope ever eternal
Before the manager leaves heralding another appointment.
We’re on a losing streak again and still, year on year,
I fail to walk away. Johnson he was magic: Johnson he is gone.
We remain. We stay in the pub for another pre-match beer.
Its my dad’s round next time. We’ll be back again.
© Paul Hansbury 2006
Old Fred he is a Wolves man,
He has been all his life.
But Doris isn’t a football fan,
Though she’s his loving wife.
He wakes on Saturday morning,
She lies in for an extra hour.
He dries off with a Wolves towel,
After he has a shower.
He dresses in the bedroom,
Puts on his golden shirt,
He tells his little Doris.
I’m meeting my mate Bert.
I’ll see him by the Molineux,
And go to grab some grub,
We may go to the Asda.
Or maybe to a pub.
If we go in the boozer,
I’ll only have a half.
Have you seen my Wolves hat?
I left it by my scarf.
Well she put in the cupboard,
She hung it on a hook.
‘There you are now Frederic,
Open your eyes and look.’
Now Doris is losing patience,
With her loving Fred,
He’s searching for his Wolves hat,
When he’s got it on his head.
Now Fred’s like many others,
Who doesn’t mean to hurt.
If you think he’s annoying.
Wait till I tell you about Bert.
© Robbie Kennedy Bennett 08/02/2002
The Return of Frank Haffey
Sometimes when I’m lowdown
Sometimes when I’m not happy
I turn my back on this world
And think I’m Frank Haffey.
How can I look you in the face
When I’m synonymous with national disgrace?
Somehow I got out of here alive –
Signed for Sydney Budapest in 1965.
Jimmy Greaves is haunting my dreams
Still cry when I hear God Save the Queen
Think of the good times in between
Mind on that header by Gordon McQueen?
We could run off somewhere new
Needn’t be Argentina or Peru
Just far enough for Johnny Haynes
Not to come looking for me and you.
© Steve Porter
The Words that came out of his mouth shocked;
For a second, the world stopped, and lashed out.
How can anybody say something like that?
What would his Mother say?
Mine would be horrified as she thought the world had finally changed.
What he said made me feel bad
What he said will probably make him a lad
With a very appropriate white baseball cap and team colours,
Broadcast to the world, broadcast to the world
But no one was interested: “coz no one sed nufink”
Bullying that’s what it is, Bullying
God have mercy, God have mercy
For what I do next I will not be held responsible
As I approach, I think back and listen to my hero:
“I have a dream … I have a dream…”
Was He in vein? Was He?
How can people do this and get away with it in the so called modern world.
What he said made me feel bad.
What he said will one day make England sad.
© Owen Roberts 20-11-06
At Shrewsbury town against wallsallin september, I heard some racial abuse. I was so incensed that I went home and recorded my feelings in a poem. Even though it wasn’t aimed at me, I was still very perturbed. We need to kick racism, not only out of football, but out of the world full stop.
THIS BEAUTIFUL GAME
AS IT RAINS, AS IT HAILS AND AS THE WIND BLOWS
THE REF CALLS THE BOYS TO THEIR TOES
THE WHISTLE HE BLOWS, ATTENTION REQUIRED
BUT IN THE 84th MINUTE WE WERE TOO TIRED
I KNOW WE’RE AT THE HIGHEST GROUND IN THE COUNTRY
BUT WHY IS BUXTON SO BLOOMIN WINTRY
IN COMES A CORNER, HIGH AND DRAUGHTY
OOPS HE’S DROPED IT, NO HES GOT IT, HES CRAFTY
THE LIFE OF A SEMI PRO FOOTBALLER IS NEVER EASY
WHEN BUXTON IS SO BREAZY
THE FINAL WHISTLE GOES, I WISH I COULD FEEL MY NOSE
WEVE LOST BADLY, 3-0 NOT A RESULT I MIGHT’VE CHOSE
BUT FOR THE BOYS I’LL ENDURE THE WEATHER’S AIM
ALL FOR THE LOVE OF THE BEAUTIFUL GAME
© TIM HARRIS
BRIGG TOWN 0 BUXTON 3, A MATCH PLAYED IN 60 MPH WINDS, AND RAIN THAT MIGHT STOP A KITE FLYER.
The George Best Rhapsody
Another bright new day,
Boy kicking a ball down Burren Way
Who was this boy, just watch him run and play
Time to cross the sea and make a brand new start
The family wave goodbye and tears from a mother’s loving heart.
He played with feet of gold
Just like a wizard from days of old
Go Georgie Go and score that goal
For the glory of United heart & soul.
A new dawn arrived at Old Trafford in 63
Playing the game he loved for all to see
A football king in red better than all the rest
To the Stretford End, the Messiah they called Best.
The crowning glory came in 68 down Wembley way
European champions in the greatest game he ever played
Up the 39 Steps, 100,000 fans sang his name
Holding the Cup up high, heroes are born not made.
Back in Belfast now time to come back home
The greatest footballer the world has ever known
Forever Georgie Boy the eternal number eleven
Playing the beautiful game up above in heaven.
© Jason Grant
“George Best was the greatest footballer to ever grace the beautiful game. His memory and legacy will live in the hearts and minds of football fans forever. The words and later song came out of the heartfelt loss and sorrow that millions felt at his passing, this is to say thanks and God Bless you George.”
I dont understand it,
run, kick, score,
whats the fun of it?
foul, red card
dont see the point in it,
yell, shirt off,
any enjoyment in it?
block, defend, miss,
POINT! There’s none
I dont understand it.
© Olivia Mackenzie
Football is a sport,
Football is a game,
Football is something that people do,
As a hobby,
As a job,
It’s as easy as kicking a ball,
You hardly have to do anything at all,
(Except scoring goals, of course!)
Football is exciting,
Football is fun,
Football is as noisy as a jumbo jet,
As a concert,
As an alarm,
Football is a little bit dangerous,
It is an expensive sport,
(Except if you’re rich, of course!)
© Wynndale Year 5, 24 November 2006
my dad loves football
my dad loves football
he even plays it in his dreams
mum doesn’t mind
but when the whistle blows she screams.