Poems tagged ‘Blyth Spartans’
february 27th, 1978. blyth spartans v wrexham, 5th round replay, fa cup.
we all cried, all of us; three generations of self-styled tough guys, each his own version of the great northern hard-man, reduced to tears by the dubious decision of a referee from stoke. me, my dad and granda, just standing there in the pouring rain, our chests a synchronised heave of unbridled emotion. the spartans were out, a dream over, beaten in the replay that should never have been, and we’d never get to know if arsenal were vulnerable. i had never seen a grown man cry and rarely have since. even when the dog had popped its clogs my dad had seemed to shout alot instead, tell us all off for the slightest thing, and snap at mam for no real reason; he had never once even looked like a man about to cry, and he’d loved that dog like an unborn daughter. my granda, on the other hand, had nearly cracked one new years day, but had blamed it on cigar smoke blowing back in his eyes and wasted no time in making his recovery. we had gone round to their’s for obligatory kisses and bowls of broth, and i had sang them auld lang syne in a sickly pre-pubescent voice and pranced about like a performing bear with the mustard hearth rug as my half-lit stage; and granda’s lip had quivered a bit and his booming voice began to break, then mam cut me short with her prompt applause, as aware as ever of other people’s pain. i, myself, had cried on occassion, but not lately in public and never in front of granda; not since i’d turned eleven at any rate. it was all quite weird in a touching kind of way, the three of us being honest at the same split second, no shame, no guilt, no fear of our secret ever getting out; and dad dried my eyes with the edge of his scarf and squeezed my head against the bulge of his shoulder: and granda blew his nose on a monographed hankie and tried very hard to say something comforting, it came out wrong though, and set us all off in one more chorus of sobs and sighs, and stoical cliches which demanded no answers. an old man at the back of the stand was crying too, and holding a banner saying ‘we was robbed’, gloriously unaware that anyone was watching.
snob
blyth spartans 4, boston 3; & according to my dad, the greatest football moment to occur this side of war. i tell this tale often. tonight it’s to a fat bloke who is sat at the bar: he has just ‘found’ the game like others find god; preferring plato to platini in his previous incarnation: he raves about ‘the toon’ in commentator-speak, like a blind man with no nose describing a flower, & despite his enthusiasm he gets my goat: he has never played ‘three goals in’ with a balding tennis ball well after dark, never said ‘next goal wins’ with a trace of breathless optimism creeping into his voice or given up his jumper to act as a goalpost; he has never shed tears at the sound of a whistle, or exchanged vulgarities with a bearded centre-forward; he has never timed a volley so friggin’ sweetly that it bursts through the net like an anti-tank missile; or turned to his mates when he knows he’s got the winner. & then he sets off on a cantona rant, claiming that eric is a flash in the pan, ‘a gallic thug’ he dares to say, ‘with a modicum of skill’! so with my eyebrows at least, i make my saving tackle, i make a point of making a point that discovery & understanding are completely different things.
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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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joe morris
28th April 2024
Richard Williams
26th April 2024
joe morris
25th April 2024
Denys E. W. Jones
25th April 2024
kevin halls
23rd April 2024
Alex Saynor
23rd April 2024
joe morris
23rd April 2024
Crispin Thomas
22nd April 2024
Denys E. W. Jones
21st April 2024
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20th April 2024
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Latest Comments
29th April 2024 at 2:47 pm
Hi Denys,
Yes Richard Williams you’re a brilliant wordsmith, my friend. When I first saw your football poetry I thought it was the superb Guardian sports and music writer. I once had the honour of sitting next to Richard Williams while at the Independent on the sports desk. He writes about music and sport with immense knowledge and authority. I’ve read a couple of Richard’s books recently. Great writer rather like you Richard Williams the Pompey fan. Congratulations on promotion.
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28th April 2024 at 5:59 pm
Thanks Denys. Yes your replay poem was superb.
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26th April 2024 at 4:46 pm
Nice work, Joe. You were quick off the mark with that! Good one from Richard Williams too I see.
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25th April 2024 at 7:33 pm
Hi Denys,
Thanks mate. I’ll do it now.
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25th April 2024 at 1:56 pm
Thanks Joe,
you might like to write a poem yourself on the same subject…
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23rd April 2024 at 4:03 pm
Hi Denys
With you all the way on the abolition of FA Cup replays. What are they doing to the game?
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23rd April 2024 at 3:59 pm
Hi Crispin,
Yes sorry mate. Villa are still in Europe. Mistake rectified.
Cheers
Joe
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20th April 2024 at 12:04 pm
Hi Joe
Shouldn’t your title read your poem Farewell Europe England to everyone exccept Aston Villa ?
I know you mention them in your poem , but I do feel sorry for Villa re the national press .
Largely ignored. the hype was was all about Man City & Arsenal with a bit of a nod to the Hammers..but hardly a mention of Villa..
So well done to them
C
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19th March 2024 at 8:00 am
Hi Crispin. Chris Sutton on the radio has gone for a Chelsea v Coventry final. As we know anything can happen in the Cup, and I reckon we can go to the final.
We’re still in with a chance of the play offs too, so lots to go for.
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19th March 2024 at 7:41 am
Hey Kev
Let the masses drool over their odds on City v Unted Final, but who knows how pressure can hit.
Cov and Chels will be rightly labelled as having no chance..but hey …stranger things have happened..
so Chelsea v Coventry…that’s the Final for us!
Best
C
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