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Poems tagged ‘England Fans’

To Be An England Fan (After Slovakia)

Crispin Thomas

Monday, July 1st, 2024

exhausted watching you again
all through the years in sun and rain
from giant screens to my front room
with no-one else to share the gloom
the hope that never disappears
the sheer frustration and the tears
the last few kicks in all those games
when we were knocked out once again
as we watched on with head in hands
resigned to be an England fan

until tonight when just like you
I’ll never know how we got through
the agony to ecstasy
relieved yet undeserved to me
we’ve been here many times before
this boring stuff that we endure
the way we look so uninspired
from cautiousness to looking tired
and never will I understand
this fate to be an England fan

I don’t look forward any more
resigned to failure scared unsure
I’m lost for what to think or say
that might throw light upon our way
a coach who looks perplexed and drained
who waits too long in ev’ry game
who sticks by those who fail each time
ignoring talent on the line
but still I’ll never understand
the fate to be an England fan

my heart goes out to those out there
who follow England evrywhere
and somehow get to ev’ry game
all through the years in sun and rain
who work and save to stand and sing
through ups and downs through thick and thin
the hope that never disappears
the sheer frustration and the tears
the last few kicks in all those games
unitl we’re knocked out once again
but stil they stand with head in hands
resigned to be an England fan

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Football’s coming home…

Phil Brennan

Saturday, June 15th, 2024

In 66 we won the cup,
The football world was shaken up.
But since then, it seems, we’ve had a curse,
Our football luck’s been quite perverse.
In 1970, we gave it a try,
But in the quarter-finals waved goodbye.

In 86, Maradona’s ‘hand of god’,
Won the quarter-final for the cheating sod.
Italia 90 brought semi-final pain,
Gazza’s tears like pouring rain.
2002, the quarter-finals brought no joy,
Beaten by Brazil’s samba boys.

2006, another quarter-final curse,
Every time it feels much worse.
2018 saw a semi-final try,
But Croatia’s win saw our dreams die.
In 22, expectations high for Southgate’s men,
But the quarter-final jinx struck again.

Our Euro hopes, they’ve been much the same,
Quarters and semis, usually end the game.
In 68, we reached the last four,
In 96, lost a semi-final once more.
2004 and 12, quarter-finals brought yet more pain,
Our poor supporters left to groan again.

In the 21 final we faced Italy’s blues,
Penalties again, of course we’d lose.
It’s now fifty-eight years of hurt.
For those three lions on the shirt,
But let’s leave all our tears in the past,
Football’s coming home, at last!

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International friendlies

joe morris

Wednesday, March 30th, 2022

How to explain the significance of
The International Friendlies
Identifiable as the week
The Premier League relaxed its hold
On our thoughts and perceptions
Last night the Ivory Coast at
The Wembley cathedral of sound
England harvest three of the best
Voices gathered in unison
In patriotic England, red, white
And blue shades of jovial jingoism
Although not necessarily so since
That would be too extreme
An overly emotive comment
Perhaps
Since the English love to see
Their white shirts soaked with
Tributaries of sweat rushing,
Cascading down from the terraces
Time for endless endeavour,
Hugging the flanks, tattooed
Tapestries of midfield passing
Weaving, stitching, carving,
Nipping, depicting illustrations
Of colour through Grealish perhaps
Sterling definitely, since his relationship
With Wembley has sentimental value
Brought up within the Arch on
Vibrant council estates
He knows the geography of
Every blade of grass within
Brent. Where Wembley Park
Tube train cries and whistles in
Tunnels where history
Still remembers the agony
Of the Euro 2020 Final
Defeat to those Italian
Stallions, it still hurts
The second half kick in
The metaphorical ribs
Pain etched on English
Faces, like the lines
Of crumpled, yellowing
Parchment of old
On Saturday England edged
Past the Swiss
Never a missed opportunity
To announce early World Cup
Bulletins when the deserts
Of Qatar welcome the globe
Opening up new frontiers
When the richly extravagant talents
From the world’s finest dining tables
Bring us Brazilian caviar, German
Varnished efficiency, Latin Argentinian
Tango verve and salsa sensuality
Then last night Ivory Coast
Reminded you of those nights
Under the Wembley lights
When the old stadium roared
And growled in defiance
When Rattin once stormed
Off the pitch like the proverbial
Bear with a sore head and
The garden of fruition yielded
Green acres of 1966 fertility
Hurst, Moore and Peters, Hunt
Stiles and Charlton leaving gentle
Breezes of Jules Rimet Cup imagery
World champions once but one
Day it will happen again
Fear not
Switzerland and Ivory Coast
Were amiable and placid visitors
To the white cliffs of Dover
Nobody told us since you
Were much more concerned
With the gleeful, well heralded
Arrival of our ten week old puppy
Barney, not Rubble he’ll never
Play in claret and blue East End
Pulsating dramas
But his left foot could take
A mean free kick or corner
Or gently lob the keeper
From the half way line
And yet international friendlies
Barely acknowledged
In the heat of battle
Where Premier League trophies
Will shortly be born

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Early Warning. Sunday Morning…

kevin raymond

Sunday, July 11th, 2021

“Police Leave Cancelled For Final o’ Euro-nations“,
Wary Britalians body-swerve their local Trat
Packed trains lumber in to Central London stations
Soused sardines, stagger-out, streaming to…the match.

A drunken Herbert, stood trying to hail a sherbet
Can’t grasp his being ignored at early dawn,
“Taxi!, I wanna meet da chaps at Oxford Circus”,
Midst a very public technicolour West-End yawn.

Charing Cross Road deemed off-limits
An anti-Boris Johnson protest march, perhaps?
“Nah Kev, there’s over eight hours to kick-off innit
They’re here, to get in the mood to watch…the match”.

Leicester Square, total mayhem
Bottles, cans, anything being thrown
Ah, now I get it, this is what they meant…
In that old chestnut, “Football’s coming home”.

Jewish fella, travelling down on the London tube
Looked absolutely terrified for his life
Surrounded, filmed being verbally abused?
By anti-Semites, sporting Ingaland shirts, the other night.

We’ve sherbet’s trashed, buses smashed
Members of The Met under serious attack
By moronic Ingaland fans, and let’s face facts
Most weren’t kids on a jolly, after…the match.

Danish family, post a gutting semi-final
Travelling home from the game by bus
Threatened by a Neanderthal bunch a tribal’s
and we wonder why, no-one in Europe takes to us?

Still, we’re in the final, nothing else matters?
Let’s all seize the day, partake in the nations fun?
I don’t wish to rip our on-field achievements in to tatters
But our troubles above are a result (sic) of when…we’ve won?

Gareth Southgate being hailed as an Uber mensch
He’s up for a knight-hood (if we win today) and rightly so
Yet what happens, say we get beat, and as a consequence
Of obnoxious partisans, we’re banned from appearing at…The Show?

I don’t expect this downer of a poem to be published, being realistic,
In fact, I don’t give a flying fluff either way?
Though warned earlier, “Avoid Up West, they’re going ballistic”,
On the day of a match?! Suggests I best take heed what family say.

Anyway. Enjoy the game, may the best team win. Oh, I hope rain stops affray!

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In The Cold Light o’ Day

kevin raymond

Thursday, July 8th, 2021

Two balls on the pitch?
At best, an iffy penalty kick?
A green light beamed in Kasper Schmeichel’s face?
Danish national anthem loudly booed?
Flipped over a country’s triumphant mood
To what us real fans loathe…embarrassing disgrace.

UEFA intent on holding an enquiry
Doesn’t inspire a jot o’ confidence in me
The harsh reality is the match should be replayed?
“Geezers completely lost the plot?”
Maybe, I’m accused of having done so quite a lot
But…I believe in the age-old adage called, fair-play.

Finally, my thoughts on the lino and referee,
Whom failed to refer to VAR, or even see
Said, two balls on the pitch, or iffy penalty shout?
Are best kept to myself tis safe to say?
Yet should both wish to contact me today…
I know a blinding (sic) Spec-Savers could sort them out.

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