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Poems tagged ‘Champions League’

Arsenal leave the European party.

joe morris

Thursday, May 8th, 2025

So it is that English football
Takes its leave of Europe
Picking up its passport and
Luggage at the Gare du Nord
Arsenal fall at the semi final hurdle
The Champions League slips from their grasp
Just a friendly croissant to offer
A pat of consolation on their backs
The Eiffel Tower smiles respectfully
On the Gunners valour, bravery, heroism
It was all so agonisingly close
But Paris St Germain were in
A marginally superior classroom
Technically word perfect
On the night
A sleeping giant
Yawns and stretches its limbs
In the city of love and wine
Arsenal though just a bouquet
Away from the finest
Bouteille du vin
Denied on the domestic front
By Liverpool’s most learned
Judges
But Mikel Arteta will
Always have Paris
And shimmering, rippling memories
On the smoothest Seine
But last night was just
One overwhelming obstacle
To clear,
If only they’d found
A modern incarnation of
John Radford and Charlie George
From Highbury’s highest mountains
A Liam Brady to unlock defences
With an aristocratic air
It should have been easy
Only a goal behind from
The first leg at the Emirates
That just stuck in the craw
The doors were open
Salvation almost there
But then there was a demoralising
Thud from Lucas Enrique’s
French boulevardiers
Arsenal start like the
Orient Express gliding through
The Alps before time
Catches up with the Gooners
So close but so far
But the Premier League was
Almost conquered
If not quite
Arteta’s day will come
For Arsenal still play from
Football’s most classical novels
Every pass carefully weighed
Judged and measured
A delight to the eye
How Brian Clough fervently believed
It should always be
And was right
For Arsenal it was Chapman, Mee,
O’Neill and beautifully Arsene Wenger
Their art, their philosophy
On the floor, the deck, terra firma
The grass of sheer purity
But last night was one match too far
After a season that now puffs and pants
Towards the finishing line
Gruelling, exhausting
Crying tendons and hamstrings
The Premier League declares
Liverpool as the loveliest
Most spectacular force
Champions across the land
But Arsenal still admirable
Not that far behind
Still glorious when the mood
Takes them and quite often
Full of finesse
And a vision of ostentatious red
Come on you Gunners
The Champions League will be yours
One day, we know
It’ll be yours to hold

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A busy night in Europe.

joe morris

Thursday, September 19th, 2024

It was busy night at the
European conference table
As opposed to the
UEFA conference League
A distinction to be made
Between the two
Since the Champions League
Returned with a flourish
And typical swagger
We knew it would
Because it always does
At this early stage of
The season
Those regulars and
Household legends
Who always seem to turn
Up for the big occasion
Wearing their smartest garb
An air of aristocracy
That never seems to fade
Familiarity never breeds contempt
Those refined feet and cerebral minds
Liverpool, traditional sitting tenants
At all European celebrations
Serial European Cup victors and
Champions League winners
Graceful, gracious and never less
Than charming hosts
Last night sweeping aside
Italian sophisticates
AC Milan, once feared, revered
Deeply admired
The greatest of them all
All over Europe and the world
But Arne Slot’s latest
Footballing royals
Were wandering through
The state rooms
Glittering portraits
On the wall
Liverpool, discount
Them at your peril
Then there was Celtic
The first British ambassadors
To represent the UK delegation
When Chalmers, Gemmill and Murdoch
In 1967, the Lisbon Lions
Roaring on that
Memorable night
Were wee bairns
Full of thrusting youth
Patriotic as haggis and kilts
At hearty Hogmanays
When Scottish eyes were smiling
Last night the green and white hoops
Were at it again
Blasting Slovan Bratislava
To smithereens and total submission
Meanwhile Aston Villa
Now there’s a surprise
But not quite since
Realistically Villa have history
On their side
European Champions in 1982
When the hitherto all conquering
Bayern Munich
Were beaten by the ever alert
Peter Withe hirsute,
Booted and suited
Last night the boys
From Villa Park
Dumped Young Boys
Yes, those juvenile upstarts
From the Swiss alps
Most unceremoniously
On their backside
Italy and Russia
Make their presence felt
Bologna grind out
Bore in stale goal-less
Draw, no score there
Shakhtar, new kids on the block
In recent years
Sadly Russian voices
May have to be silenced
Since dictators have now
Made unforgivable noises
War and football
Orwell knew what he was
Talking about
This is not the right time
For Russian football
To be held to account
For the sins of Putin’s
Bloodthirsty bullyboys
Finally French flair setters
PSG, narrowly edge past
Girona, Italy once again
On the tastiest menus
Appetites never sated
In European club football
We can never get enough
Of its crafts and powerful
Shafts of radiant sunlight
The giants and contenders
To the throne
Welcome back

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Paris- Champions League Final

joe morris

Saturday, May 28th, 2022

Ah yes
Amid the boulevards
And cafe au lait,
Where the Champs Elysses
Greets Champions League giants
Or European Cup leviathans
In the old money
Welcome to Paris
Be sure to savour croissants
At the Gare Du Nord
Liverpool are forthcoming
Imminent as the dawn
That cracks gently on European
Lawns, manicured as your mind
And soul, Liverpool a wounded
Animal after being pipped to the
Premier League title
But FA Cup holders carved
In perpetuity
But Liverpool and Real Madrid
Footballing royalty
Embracing French romance
With almost 20 Champions League
Medals between them
A remarkable phenomenon
This is meeting of kings
Liverpool still reminding you
Of that first dance when Tommy
Smith became the Roman emperor
And Munchenglabach fell, then
Toppled to the ground by KK
Kevin Keegan, fire and ferocity
Liverpool’s first European Cup
It should always be that way
Rather than Champions League
Prizes to one and all
Since that’s a misnomer
Just incomprehensible
The top four
Regarded as champions of their
League. Oh what piffle and nonsense
The Champions League Final
But City
Are the Premier League’s
Champions, and market
Forces, Sky, BT sport.
Call the tune
Today’s currency
The new money
What a palaver
Or maybe some of us are
Embittered by the absence
Of the BBC and Barry Davies
When the game was played
On terrestrial screens
And you knew where you stood
But now no longer
Among European aristocracy
Where football only listens to
Its own voice of grasping avarice
The cash cow, millions of Euros
Tills ringing in astronomical six
or seven figures
But tonight the Champions League
Final will be beamed by satellite
Another parallel universe, some far
Away planet, where the galaxy of stars
Will play in the white of the Bernabeu
Madrid, so gloriously Real nothing fake
At all and Liverpool red and ready
To acknowledge their history
With record breaking achievements
It could be another night of nights
And of course it will undoubtedly be
Perhaps the spirit of Napoleon
Will touch the shoulders of Madrid
And Liverpool
Footballing monarchs
Undoubtedly so

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Real Madrid again in Champions League final

joe morris

Thursday, May 5th, 2022

Oh that stirring rendition of
Spanish melodies from
Dulcet tones and voices
Real Madrid,
The genuine article
For the umpteenth time
Grandees of European Cup
History and now back
Where they feel they belong
At the pinnacle shaking hands
With the past, back this time
In the Champions League Final
How many times now
10,11,12, even 13
Yes definitely 13
Incredible , just incredible
But quite extraordinary
Defying mathematics and
Calculus, logarithms and
Algorithms, geometry
And symmetry,
A force of nature
Real Madrid,
Exemplary ambassadors
On football’s highest councils
Sitting on the lofty plinth,
Elder statesmen of the game
Veterans of its inherent beauty
Frequent visitors to its
Banqueting suite, the gilded
Mirrors, the chaise longue
Next to the corner kick
Of the mighty Bernabeu
Free kicks taken next to
The opulent ottoman next
To the free kick where the
Referee’s familiar spray
But not hair spray
Will dictate fates
And awaits breathlessly
It has to be emphasised
And yet
We remember the nobility
Of Di Stefano, Gento and Puskas
When Eintracht Frankfurt
Were crushed underfoot by Real
Madrid, a picture of devastation,
Wreckage and carnage, the debris
of 1960 in Glasgow when 7-3 almost
Felt like business as usual for these
Spanish toreadors, cape flashing
The bull in desperate retreat
Barbaric by nature were they not
What a night that must have been
When you were but an apple in your
Parents eye
But Real Madrid were the pioneers
Before the rest became like trailblazers
Their football had mercilessness, cruelty
Indifference to convention
Because they did things that were unexpected,
Unusual, Masters of art and forward thinking
Innovation, formations that were neither diamond
Nor platinum but certainly gold
Positions reeking of glorious improvisation
Switching and linking, hopping and skipping
To yet more mesmeric bossa novas
Passing with rich spices of Oregano
Parsley and Thyme
Flavoursome, scented with yet
More cinnamon
Passing that breathes sweet
Craftsmanship and measured
Consideration
They must have thought
Real Madrid were just
Figments of our imagination
None could play in their ilk
But then the ball moved like
A white tidal wave washing
Gently over our vision
And we’d just witnessed
The greatest and finest
Unsurpassable, a dream
Come true,
Football full of wit, joy
Remarkable surrealism
At times, classical
Instrumentation
And experimentation
Now Real Madrid
Will meet Liverpool
In the Champions League
Final. All of our birthdays
And anniversaries have come
At once
Fitting dignitaries on this
Star spangled climax
To the European season
May will welcome
Liverpool and Madrid
With the warmth and
Tenderness so richly deserving
Of their rightful status and stature
Liverpool now many
Multiple winners
Of the European Cup
Bill Shankly, Bob Paisley
And Joe Fagan will be
Watching from a
Comfortable seat in heaven
Waving arms, pointing, whistling
Living every moment, coaxing
And cajoling, on their feet
Inspiring and exhorting,
Pleading for that European
Cup.
Remembering Kenny Dalglish
Leaping over Wembley advertising
Hoardings after Bruges had been
Beaten, fair and square
And finally Terry Mac, Ray Kennedy,
Tommy Smith rising like a salmon to head
High into the net. Perfection again
Munchengladbach in Rome.
It was almost too easy.
Steve Heighway danced the last waltz
With the Merseyside Kop
As opposed to the Spion
Real Madrid and Liverpool
In the Champions League final
It will seem like the ultimate
Outdoor concert under the stars
An exhibition of courtly grace under
Pressure, a rose garden
Of footballing mastery,
Two stately galleons
Dropping anchor into the late
Spring, dipping sun where
Paris sighs admiringly again

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On A Magic Porto Night

Crispin Thomas

Sunday, May 30th, 2021

on a stage where dreams come true
City sure they’d see it though
ev’rything within in their hands
very few could understand
how despite their buoyant fans
Chelsea could destroy their plans
pundits pointing clearly to
this one turning lightest blue
on a magic Porto night
all predictions soon took flight

in a daunting Covid year
fans all scrambling to be there
bumped up tickets few to spare
costly flights and tests to share
underdogs before the start
driven on by guts and heart
few would tip them Pep would trip them
Blues would slip and City clip them

early probing quicky sorted
James dictating Sterling thwarted
fans ecstatic pace is hectic
open play at times electric
like a mower through the grass
Mount delivers such a pass
Havertz sets off on his own
rounds the keeper slots it home
now it’s backs against the wall
who will rise and who will fall?
Tuchel’s begging to the crowd
roar us on and make it loud
City throw on ev’ryone
has Aguero’s moment come?
counting seconds tick away
can the Blues hold on today?

meanwhile Kante’s dominating
like some busy bee creating
in the middle tracking back
striding forward in attack
sliding-tackling pocket-picking
ever present ball-nicking
just like Joey Cole I swear
Kante’s flipping ev’rywhere
sometimes it’s hard to explain how he just controls the game
oozing class with ev’ry pass
Kante sees them home again
barely time to think or pause
at the end they’re on all fours
City still to reach their dream
what a final we have seen
one thing’s certain here for sure ..
Chelsea lift the cup once more

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Pep’s Recipe for Winning

Dave Martin

Friday, May 28th, 2021

The football played by Manchester City
is all about slick passing, possession and press.
They show the opposition no pity,
that’s the simple secret of their success.

It’s all about slick passing, possession and press
when de Bruyne, Foden and Sterling come to town.
That’s the simple secret of their success,
on their day they can knock anyone down.

When de Bruyne, Foden and Sterling come to town
they show the opposition no pity.
On their day it can knock anyone down,
the football played by Manchester City.

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Wounded Pride.

kevin raymond

Thursday, March 11th, 2021

Would history repeat itself, on a cold Parisienne night?
A deft fleet footed tiny elf, vacate his throne, take flight?
The answers to such questions, quickly disappeared
In a blitz of ball possession, to be dreamed about, revered.

PSG turned up at home to play, win, entertain, and enthral
But, to play as wizened pundits say, a team needs have a ball
Relentless in subtle approach play, little give and go’s sublime
Another sphere, another day? Barca victors come half-time.

Sipping Fentimans Ginger Beer n ice, I urge Dembele…score
Not once, not twice, not thrice times, an exasperated four
Reminded of Meadowlark and co, I envy PSG their thankless task
Eclipsing Barcelona’s ebb n flow? Seemed an unattainable ask.

Despite a double dodgy penalty, a blinding Messi thunderbolt
Seemed to me at least that PSG, struggled hard through-out to cope
Messi sees his spot-kick saved, followed by a frantic free for all
PSG trudge off the field of play, seeking out the BFC exclusive ball.

Would the second half surpass the first? Dembele caress the elusive net?
Might PSG quench Barcelona’s thirst, lack nous, sit back, en garde, regret?
What happened during the second-half, is of little consequence at all?
PSG stutter through midst a nervous gasp, trying to find and keep the ball.

During the initial forty-five plus minutes, watching the Barcelona way to play
The intricate deft give and goes within it, retrieving the odd ball gone astray
I’m reminded football’s a simple game, to control, receive or make a pass*
Played by a team, not one lauded selfish pseudo-God, ply’s his trade on grass.

The Champions League dream done n dusted, this decimated term at least
Barcelona bid, au revoir to Paris encrusted in plaudits post a veritable T.V. feast
Sometimes it isn’t the at all cost winning, attracts fans hankering after fame
It’s the pleasure your teams delivering, in the guise of playing a simple game.

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Cup Tie Karma?

kevin raymond

Wednesday, March 10th, 2021

Ron leads a frenzied monochrome charge
Waving imaginary red cards
To later…turn his back, enacting I surrender
The Old Lady sighs, scant chance of victory gone
Watching a valiant Porto soldier on
Inspired by…an outstanding veteran defender.

 

 

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Champions League Final 2019: Liverpool and the power of six

Emdad Rahman

Sunday, July 28th, 2019

Estadio Metropolitano for the cup
The Reds were hardly sublime
Klopp was happy to soak it up
And lift Big Ears for the sixth time

Salah’s penalty wasn’t that sound
Twelve months, how time flies
Origi bangs, we’re Anfield bound
With the continents biggest prize

Spurs tried but lacked the kill
Total shutdown Alisson Becker
The City of Liverpool is at a standstill
As the Reds get the Double Decker

Rome Seventy Seven, London Seventy Eight
Henderson fulfills a dream
Paris Eighty One, a Rome Eighty Four date
Istanbul and Madrid Nineteen

number7

© emdad rahman

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CFC, AFC, LFC, THFC

Clik The Mouse

Friday, May 10th, 2019

Teresa May, she knew
that Brexit would prove problematic
in the EU

but Brexit
is absolutely NOT happening
in UEFA

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Source: http://footballpoets.org/news/poem-tags/champions-league/