Poems tagged ‘Colin Bell’
Maine Road Matchday ’69
Maine Road Matchday 69
A week at school wished away
Until at last it’s Saturday
Matchday
Maine road matchday
Solemn commitment to worried mum
“I’ll be ok, I’m meeting a schoolchum”
Usually a lie, sometimes true
Most times I don’t, now and then I do
Bus to Piccadilly, the 219
Passing by the Courtaulds sign
Straight to Lewis’s department store
TV showroom, fourth floor
An array of tellies for sale or for rent
A small crowd gathers, all male, one intent
To watch football previews – in colour! A proper treat
Then through the gardens to Aytoun Street
For the football special, a red routemaster
Though some days you could walk it faster
Unshaven men with unwashed hands
Wait for custom at burger stands
Stained white overalls define their style
Not seen Persil for quite a while
Grubby nails on nicotine fingers
Haven for germs to thrive and linger
Burgers stacked in a tepid lake
Laced with fag ash, almost opaque
Not exactly items to savour
Like soggy cardboard, with slightly less flavour
Vegans hadn’t been invented yet
But if they had you can bet
They could have dined here safely
(Other than the obligatory tummy upset)
Floodlight pylons, an arresting sight
Frame Moss Side drizzle in vibrant light
Fumble in pocket for half a crown
Through creaking turnstiles, put the money down
Programme seller, refreshment stand
Last few coppers clasped in hand
Flat capped men clutch cups of Bovril
Repulsive odour fills the nostrils
Not a drink for little boys
Kia-Ora orange, that’s my choice
Money less than wisely spent
Real fruit content zero percent
Now time to spend another penny
But so few facilities for so many
Cascading rivers of metabolised booze
Fag ends hurtling along like canoes
Shooting the rapids, though this water’s not white
The stench unspeakable, that can’t be right
Is this what it’s like in a man’s world?
All set to ascend the stairway to heaven
To watch my heroes, one to eleven
Hordes of eager trampling feet
Pound on steps of crumbling concrete
Disintegration into rubble
Can only mean impending trouble
Paint peels on rusting railings,
Glaring health and safety failings
Never properly put to the test
Fingers crossed and hope for the best
Ibrox, two years on, 66 die
There, but for the grace of god, go I
Out come the teams to do their worst
Opponents first, always opponents first
“Bring on the champions” the Kippax boys roar
Even though we’re not champions any more
But we are still pretty damn good
Even on a pitch awash with mud
No names on the back of those shirts of sky blue
But I don’t even need numbers to tell who’s who
Bell’s athletic, imperious stride,
Lee chest out, bursting with pride,
Young floating with balletic grace
Book’s hunched gait and unlikely pace
I gaze out in awe, mesmerised
Precious images forever prized
Crowd disturbance, a sudden buzz
Rival fans on the loose, here come the fuzz
For those around me a huge distraction
But my eyes stay fixed on the action
People lean across for a better view
And I just think “what’s wrong with you?”
Our games aren’t on telly, well hardly ever
So blink and you’ll have missed it, forever
Giving morons the oxygen of attention
Even then well beyond my comprehension
Final whistle, don’t see me for dust
Sprinting away to run for the bus
At speed through dithering crowds I go
Sit next to someone with a radio
Final scores and reports from familiar voices
If United have lost the whole bus rejoices
At last Piccadilly, will the Pinks have arrived?
Was that first goal offside? Will they say Franny dived?
Read the Pink on the bus, cover to cover
Even the letters page, why do these people bother?
Relentless banality, always the same
From armchair experts, never been to a game
Walk home from the bus station, knock at the door
Mum’s there to meet me, she knows the score
Mood wholly dependent on how well we’ve done
Tea always tastes that much better if we’ve won
Then The Avengers and Match of the Day
Followed by Sunday grisly Sunday
The looming grim spectre of school on Monday
But Wednesday evening we’re at home again
Another trip to Maine Road’s my week’s only aim
Planting the seeds, night after night
Please mum, it’ll be alright
Some lads from school are going…
Colin Bell – 1946-2021
I still have my copy of “Colin Bell”
Reluctant hero on the field of play
Kept safe in my cellar in hope
The legend would sign it one day
Malcom Allison once spoke
Signing City’s midfield kingpin
Nabbed him for a pittance
“An unbelievable bargain”
There’s a League Cup trophy
Helped City go up
Three times top scorer
And the Cup Winners Cup
England caps, the title, FA Cup
A titan with boundless energy
Maestro, king of the Kippax
We pay homage to Nijinsky
05 12 20
number7
© emdad rahman
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Latest Poems
Crispin Thomas
2nd May 2024
joe morris
2nd May 2024
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
Crispin’s Corner
In Memoriam
Kick It Out & Christmas Truce
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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