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Poems tagged ‘Chelsea’

Hitching To A Game At Christmas Once More

Crispin Thomas

Tuesday, December 17th, 2019

whatever happened to hitching?
and can you remember when kids would hitch home for Christmas
to waiting parents on frosty December mornings?

a different world then – hap-less map-less and sat-navless
sussing out the best lay-byes to hitch from
cardboard felt pen signs talking rubbish making conversation
listening to the hits on crackly radios
with smoking lorry drivers and flash geezers in sports cars
often going way out of their way
and – if you were lucky maybe a free coffee
but friendly and always always the spirit of freedom
and then best of all – destination achieved
the beauty of money saved
but more importantly
getting somewhere for nothing

so it was that crazy Christmas
late sixties in London and sharing a flat for £10 a week
with a rubbish gas meter
guzzling shillings like some hungry pig
we hit on a cunning but glorious plan
there in some café just off the Fulham Road
when John chirped up
“Fancy hitching to the Liverpool game – Boxing Day….we could check out The Cavern?”
“Done !” I cried unknowingly

Boxing Day ’66 dawned
cold yellow sky and deep deep frost
“what if it gets called off?” ..”It won’t” laughed John
and with no Radio 5 updates or common sense and snow forecast…we chanced it

no-one mad enough to stop for us
believed we were going to hitch up and back in a day
we certainly hadn’t thought it through
but somehow we would and we did
and the journey?
the lifts a blur – except for one
an old VW bus driven by The Chants
one of the ‘nearly’ pop groups of the time
heading back up from a gig
but one thing’s clear – that feeling of achievement
on seeing Anfield for the first time
and us – caught in the banter
cold hands and blue scarves lost in in a sea of red
and clearly the height of much derision

“hope we don’t get thrashed” I offered
“we won’t…come on you Blues!”
and then the big clock on two forty five
we found ourselves a welcome turnstile
and there we were – standing on The fabled Kop!
the only trouble was
so were thousands of red and white scarved fans
and us the only forlorn Blues fans

looking across to the opposite end
a flurry of blue balloons underlined our error
but bon-homie gladly reigned
and with the festive spirit and spirits being imbued
we had a great old time

and me – I loved the way
Liverpool fans gave our hero Peter Bonetti a great ovation
something they still do for opposing goalies
it was probably the only time I was glad we lost
two one for the record
as Yeats, St John and Hunt danced rings around us

later The Cavern shut for the holidays
with snow falling lightly and my gloves wet through
we headed off on foot to the motorway cold but happy
and somehow by the miracle of goodwill
and much cold thumbing
we found ourselves some five hours later
and close on ten back in the Earls Court Road
drinking coffee in Le Sous Sol and listening to Otis Redding
and vowing to do it all again one day
maybe
but no….sadly we never did

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Dancin an Singin in The Rain.

kevin raymond

Sunday, November 10th, 2019

Prior to a torrential down-pour
Abraham scores once more
Our bogy team, fail to get a sniff o the game.
Though keeper Kepa keeps a slippery clean slate
He best quickly sort out his plates, or his fate…
Could be a Ryanair one way, en route to Spain?

Onward Christian soldiers…
Brave heart and broad shoulders,
Nutting in the second, before careering off the goals frame.
Straight up…there was only ever gonna be one winner
While there at the death, our fans resembled Fred n Ginger…
Splish-sploshing along Fulham Road…Dancin an Singin in The Rain.

Peace.

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O Me of Little Faith.

kevin raymond

Sunday, October 27th, 2019

After giving Pulisic,
Untold, untold negative shtick
He schleps up to the grave-yard of Turf Moor,
Where not only does he score?
But…goes on to bag himself…a perfect hat-trick*.

Leaving me and any other stupid eejit
Above in the Gods of Heaven where I sit,
Had the gall to question our revered Christian,
(The answers Yes, I’m indeed a fickle man)
Looking like an absolute di…p-stick.

I guess what I’m trying to say?
To ye fellow Blues of little faith
Don’t be making false assumptions
Let’s give a geezer some encouragement
Out there going at it for us, midst the fray.

Truth is, he’s hardly had a kick this season
So there really ain’t a decent reason
For simply tossing him to The Lions (No!)
The Wolves, or even worse…them Irons( Whoa!)
When despite his fee, he appears to be at least half decent…

Sez I…eating humble apple pie, like Pulisic, from the good old U.S.A.

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Chelsea challenge seen off at the Bridge

Emdad Rahman

Wednesday, October 9th, 2019

Chelsea 1-2 Liverpool

Trent will inspire
Unleashing a ball of fire
He’s easily the best of this crop

Firmino with number two
Kante turned the screw
But the Reds lead Pep’s boys at the top.

22 09 19

number7
© emdad rahman

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dream machine engages

Clik The Mouse

Thursday, October 3rd, 2019

there’s a stillness to the night –
sleep has zero’d in on the whole household
bar one
the night owl
the habitual moon-walker

and in the dying moments
afore they too join the slumber party
even the tiniest movements
create a deafening din

a twisting of a tap
and a waterfall spouts, torrents into the tumbler;
a rifling through pockets
for the softest of tissues
to dab the runniest of noses
sounds like a full-on firing range;

but despite all this uproar
the biggest racket is reserved
when finally the land of nod beckons
and the head nestles into duck-down wadding;
the eyelids flutter, then settle, open no more
but the dream machine engages
and over the shindig of snores
there’s the loudest of roars
when the Wednesdayite shoots and scores!

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Kepa the leper

Clik The Mouse

Thursday, February 28th, 2019

an act of dissent
meant
disbarment
to the bench
while the stench
of mutiny
lingered

Sarri fingered
as dead man walking
meanwhile Kepa?
treated
like a leper

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If Paradise Is…

kevin raymond

Saturday, September 15th, 2018

Half as nice
As watching Eden scoring thrice
Who needs paradise?
Seeing Eden net thrice?

Peace.

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First Home Game ~ Chelsea 6-2 Wolves .30 Aug ’58 (60 Years On)

Crispin Thomas

Thursday, August 30th, 2018

I recall that Saturday like yesterday
a steaming summer
our first home game in ‘58
excitement
and childlike expectation in the air
August in London and sweltering
“stand clear of the doors!” “wear your colour!”
“official programme sixpence a go!”
“roasted peanuts ‘tanner’ a bag!”
welcome to the season welcome to Wolves
stopping to gaze at star badges
of Blunstone and Greaves in plastic and blue
as bearing down on Stamford Bridge
those teeming weaving crowds
all short-sleeved in the Fulham Road
and in the distance floodlight pylons
tower and loom on blue blue sky
while sun sparkles on concrete old and open
ninepence for kids one and six for adults
but wait what’s this ? sold out and heaving!!
you said “let’s try bunking in” and we did
between the legs in turnstile mayhem
nervous and torn clutching melting lollies
and passed down the front
we sat in awe upon that track
62,000 behind us baying swaying

and do you remember the score?
six-two
a blur of blue and gold
of goals and cheers
young Jimmy rampant as that crested lion
nabbing five and making the sixth
Billy Wright chasing shadows
you with two ribbons to a wooden rattle stapled
and me in my rough striped scarf
that mum had sat up half the night
embroidering strange names upon
but I wore it in the heat anyway
and later in the street
on neighours walls with chalk for goalposts
between the ice cream van and the pavement
we lived it through again and again and again
and never knew that to this day we always would

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Happened Kinda Fast…

kevin raymond

Sunday, July 29th, 2018

Peeling spuds, washing glasses
Using knives n forks, serviettes an plates
Instead of…greasy mitts in a chicken box,
Blue shirt proclaiming; “Gian-Franco Zola. God”!
Quaffing Stella by the telly with his mates.

Then…this blinding bird moved in
Inspired an immediate change in him
Why he even…pressed the suit he wore for work?
Away games and the mighty craic?
She put a bleeding stop to all o that
He was down the gym, most Saturdays with her.

Caught an inkling things weren’t right
When instead of poker Friday nights
He’d be home indoors preparing her risotto
Right, that’s like a glutinous boiled rice?
Reminded us of a blinding night
We watched a classic out in Munich (with a ruby) we’d forgotten?

Things went from very bad to worse
Heard he visited our local church
Talking to a priest bout getting hitched
Even went round to meet her folks
A rumour spread was he’d proposed
Made us hastily check that seasons fixture list.

Then…the nuptials front went quite
He turned up at poker, Friday night
Asking us enthused about the team?
“Read The Evening Standard, don’t yer mate?”,
“Nah haven’t done of late
Too involved with parquet floors it seems?

But I’m glad all that’s over now
When are we away to Huddersfield Town?”
He asked with a cheeky smile, checking his cards
Well. What a Friday night we had that day
Seemed like he’d never been away
We totally had a blast, partying hard.

Anyways a week or two went by
Instead of sleeping dogs being let lie
We asked (like nosy gits) what caused the split?
Well. His face went crimson red
Bit of trouble catching breath
Then with vitriol spat it out, and this it….

“She was gorgeous, really cute
Even showed me how to press me suit
Problem came when I asked her dad could I wed his daughter?
Said I could on a condition bordering on bleeding farcical
He expected me at The Emptiness, cheering on The Arsenal*
I ain’t jumping ship – says I – for no team from “Over The Water”?

Well. He cracked a jeroboam of shampoo
Clinking crystal flutes we knew
Our mate had sorted his relationship conundrum:
See. A bloke may Love a beautiful bird whom he adores
But he’d have always held a torch – in his heart – for a paramour
Along The Fulham Road, in South West London!

Peace.

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Ere Geez! I Dunno If You Know But…

kevin raymond

Friday, July 13th, 2018

The best kept secret in football is finally out
A situation bordering on West London farce
See’s Antonio Conte’s future no longer in doubt
He’s tin tacked and given his cards.

Last season, at times seemed a clash of the titans
Both sides refusing to budge
Harsh words approaching transfer night dead-line
Resulted in a power crazed slinging of mud.

Surely the vitriol could have been put to one side
For the sake of us fans, and the good of the team?
Sipping a Bovril at half-time, awash in snide lies
Spoils the taste, if…you know what I mean?

Anyway…we, “Move On Up”, as Curtis Mayfield once said?
Or at least I think that’s his saying I heard?
Meanwhile…an Elton John tune bounces round in my head…
‘Twould appear – at least – in this instance here, “Sarri Seems To Be The Hardest Word”?

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Source: http://footballpoets.org/news/poem-tags/chelsea/page/4/