Football Poets

A Welcome in February 2009

In February 2009, we welcomed the following new contributors to this site :

Peter E Hall
George Morey
Neil Pickup
Isaac Abraham

Click on the names above to see that person’s poem(s), or browse some selected first efforts below :

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Call It Football, Not Soccer

I’m talking with my friends one day
And one of them starts talking about soccer
‘Soccer?’ I say
‘I would pay anything to make that horrid word go away’
‘Then what do you call it?’ they ask
I look at them with a blank look on my face’
And I say at a very slow pace.
Football
They look at me like I’m a comedian that has just told a funny joke
And then they say to me ‘Bloke, what are you going on about?’
Then I start to pout
And then shout ‘Mates call it football not soccer’

© Isaac Abraham

I go to an American school and I started to get sick of people calling football ‘soccer’ so i wrote this poem

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Chester City 0 Exeter City 0

It’s 10 in the morning
On the Motorway

Junctions, Cones and Roadworks
Any conceivable delay

165 miles of driving
To an industrial estate

Past Tesco, Aldi, Jeep and Chrysler
The Deva Stadium; The West Stand

Standing in Wales, singing to England
But Hearing nothing back

Then it begins; a vacuum
90 minutes, no chance

But 470 away fans
Are louder than 1200 hosts

Not before time, it’s over
Back onto the roads

Past Chrysler, Jeep, Aldi and Tesco
Eating Service Station Food

What else is there you could have done
With these 11 hours instead?

You’d do it all again though
Cause 0-0’s one more point

We’re all in it together
Players, Fans and Club

Next time will be different
Cause City’s going up

© Neil Pickup
This is what 0-0 drives you to.

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Not Waking The Dead

The Twerton faithful
Congregate for the game.
A flag proclaims
The oppositions name.

A dour scrappy tussle,
Atmosphere as dead
As the magpie on
The rafter overhead.

Second half starts better
With Stripes streaming forward.
Nimble Gilly nicks a goal
Calmly getting his reward.

Weston have a mare.
A clumsy tackle sees
The captain given red.
Their fighting spirit flees.

How city only score three
Is a mystery, a crime.
A zealous lino denies one
Others fail to cross the line.

A modest roar swells as
The final whistle’s heard.
But not loud enough
To wake the dead bird.

© Peter E Hall
The match was Bath City v Weston Super Mare
Tuesday 24th February 2009

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I once went on a trip

I once went on a trip,
Some people might remember,
For the final of a cup run,
Which started around December.

At first a game against Walsall,
Down at the Den,
We beat them by 2 goals to 1,
So we didn’t have to play again.

We then faced a trip,
Up to lovely Telford,
But little did we know then,
We’d soon be playing at old Trafford.

Victories against Burnley,
And a hard fought 1 at Tranmere,
Led us to Old Trafford,
Which was more of a dream than a nightmare.

Because we beat Sunderland by
1 goal to nil,
Which took us on a trip to the south of Wales,
The stadium we did fill.

We all know that we were robbed,
On that memorable day,
But what a great time we had,
The 22nd of May.

I once went on a trip,
Some people might remember,
For the final of a cup run,
Which started around December.

© George Morey
Millwall reaching the F.A. Cup final 2004

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