Poems tagged ‘Escobar’
Remembering Andrés Escobar -Colombia July 2 ’94
The World Cup in America, nineteen ninety four,
USA – Colombia, do you recall the score?
While over in the Rose Bowl, with fever running high,
back on the streets, of Medellin, it’s near to do or die.
Colombia were on a roll, the moment it was now,
their road would be to glory, to sweet success somehow.
I speak of Andrés Escobar, I shudder at his name,
the linchpin in a strong defence, and known throughout the game.
They called him ‘Caballero’, the football gentleman,
in soccer-crazy bars and homes, and right across the land.
In front of ninety thousand fans, Colombia / The States,
the stadium heaved to anthem songs, behind the long closed gates.
The minutes gone were thirty three , Colombia’s stubborn wall,
is broken by a hopeful cross, it looked like André’s ball.
But as he stretched to intercept, the ball spun fast away,
it clipped his boot and in the net, it landed on that day.
An own goal of extreme bad luck , the sorry deed was done,
and one that proved, to be his last – Columbia lost two-one.
Their World Cup dream now over, disaster in one game,
while friends stood by, a finger dark sought out the one to blame.
With Med’lin’s current murder rate some twenty odd a day,
his only ever World Cup goal would prove the price to pay.
Eliminated they returned, to jeers instead of praise
and Andres’ goal, cost him his life, within the next ten days .
July the first, a night club, where high up on a hill
they shot him like a dog that night, and Escobar lay killed.
Own goal, own goal, they shouted, as he sat in his car –
at point blank range, six times they fired, outside the Padua Bar.
On Medellin’s streets, they argue still, on such a way to go,
a hit man or a drunken rage, but we will never know.
A country rife with drugs and guns, so meaningless and sad
“How can there be,” his father cried, “.. some people quite so bad…..
that they could kill, my gentle son, that they, his life could take,
all for a moment in a game, all for one brief mistake. ”
And now while politicians and drug lords wine and dine,
the coke cartels and hit men come thick at any time.
Think then upon the price of life – the money and the dream,
those sexy football lifestyles aren’t always how they seem.
And on those dusty pitches on Sundays you can see
by breeze block slums with washing hung, the dream of breaking free.
And still they talk of that World Cup and of the fateful day
when Escobar stretched out too far against the USA.
Still Just A Game-Andrés Escobar 1967-94
The World Cup in America, nineteen ninety four,
USA – Colombia, do you recall the score?
And over in the Rose Bowl, the fevers running high,
while on the streets, of Medellin, it’s near to do or die.
Colombia were on a roll, the moment it was now,
their road would be to glory, to sweet success somehow.
I speak of Andrés Escobar, I shudder at his name,
the linchpin in a strong defence, and known throughout the game.
They called him ‘Caballero’, the football gentleman,
in soccer crazy bars and homes, and right across the land.
In front of ninety thousand fans, Colombia v The States,
the stadium heaved to anthem songs, behind the long closed gates.
The minutes gone were thirty three , Colombia’s stubborn wall,
is broken by a hopeful cross, it looked like André’s ball.
But as he stretched to intercept, the ball spun fast away,
it clipped his boot and in the net, it landed on that day.
An own goal of exctreme bad luck , the sorry deed was done,
and one that proved, to be his last, Columbia lost two-one..
Their World Cup dream now over, disaster in one game,
while friends stood by, a finger dark, sought out the one to blame.
With Med’lin’s current murder rate some twenty odd a day
his only ever World Cup goal would prove the price to pay.
Eliminated, they returned, to jeers instead of praise
and Andres’ goal, cost him his life, within the next ten days .
July the first, a night club, where high up on a hill
they shot him like a dog that night, and Escobar lay killed.
Own goal, own goal, they shouted, as he sat in his car
at point blank range, six times they fired, outside the Padua Bar.
On Medellin’s streets, they argue still, on such a way to go,
a hit man or a drunken rage, but we will never know
A country rife with drugs and guns, so meaningless and sad
“How can there be,” his father cried, “.. some people quite so bad
that they could kill, my gentle son, that they, his life could take
all for a moment in a game, all for one brief mistake “,
And now while politicians and drug lords wine and dine,
the coke cartels and hit men come thick at any time,
Think then upon the price of life – the money and the dream,
those sexy football lifestyles aren’t always how they seem.
And on those dusty pitches on Sundays you can see
by breeze block slums with washing hung – the dream of breaking free.
And still they talk of that World Cup and of the fateful day
when Escobar stretched out too far against the USA.
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joe morris
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25th April 2024
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23rd 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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