Poems tagged ‘Euros’
It was worth it in the end
Well, I never
Oh yes, finally again
Against the odds
The impossible dream
Glorious Blighty
Standing on the shoulders
Of 1966 when
Sir Geoff Hurst
Spun a hat-trick
Of World Cup jubilation
But now it’s happening again
Once again England
Reach the land of fairy tales
Fantasies fulfilled
Oh England, England
It almost seems as
If, at any moment,
Somebody will jolt us
From our sleep
And it was just some
Ridiculous illusion
Gareth in Wonderland
Forget the dull functionality
Of the preliminaries
The grey ordinariness
Of those plodding, walking,
Hesitating, grinding to
A painful standstill, moments
Of wretched, plain awful
Football with no bite
Little or no idea or purpose
Going around in ever increasing circles
And hitting Swiss, Slovakian and Slovenian
Walls of stubborn intransigence
Dwelling on the ball for
Several seasons of the year
Where were England going
Until somebody jabbed us
In the ribs?
And startled us into proactive
Action packed vibrancy
Against those orange cloggers
From the Netherlands
No more recycling in Amsterdam
Take your leisure
By the all embracing canals
With hashish cake for breakfast
But we love the Dutch
Because you gave us the joyous
Windmills of Mick Channon
In his Southampton and City pomp
But tonight Villa’s finest
Ollie Watkins
Pulled it out of the
Magician’s hat
In that Roy of the Rovers
90th minute winner
Of gold,
Burnished in history
66 million blood pressures
Soaring into a far distant
Stratosphere
Hearts palpitating so fast
That it took another
Cliff hanging climax
First the flying Dutchman
Took aeronautical engineering
To another dimension
With opening goal
Before minutes later
Harry Kane became
That exemplary Citizen Kane
Oh, if only Orson Wells
Could have been here
On this night of nights
Harry’s studs caught,
A blatant trip
Penalty tucked away
In the postage stamp
Of the net
Level pegging
Parity for ages
Honours even
For seemingly an eternity
English and Dutch
Allies to so many
In the bloodiest of wars
But now joined at the hip
End to end
In basketball mode
Nothing between them
Thrilling, gripping
Intoxication in every
Village, city and town pub
Across Middle England
Sleepy for so many years
But now leaping out of bed
Flinging open the blinds
Sunshine floods through
Anglo Saxon tributaries
Victory rubber stamped
Y Viva Espana on Sunday
For Gareth’s sweat soaked icons
Spain in the Euro 2024
Final.
England, the luckiest team
Of them all
But who cares?
We’ve done it
Berlin on Sunday
Fortune favours the brave
It’s been 58 years in
The waiting
But who’s to say that fate
Indeed maybe wearing
A white shirt?
They said we were crazy
And delusional to think
That England couldn’t
But reigning against Spain
It has a ring about it
Sangrias all around
So close to the exit gate
Oh woe, what torture,
What agony and purgatory
Why do we keep doing it
To ourselves?
Seconds away from the
Departure gate of
Euro2024 and suddenly
Jude did indeed
Take a sad song
And improve it
Most remarkably
But there we were
Waiting at the baggage carousel
Despairing of ever
Finding our suitcases
Probably in Munich
Or Frankfurt
But passports
Not required
Since Jude Bellingham
Saved our neck
When it looked
As if we were doomed
To Business class
On Virgin’s finest plane
Home again
For what seemed a lifetime
England were just clueless
Without even a glimpse
Of imagination in their
Mind set
Backwards, forwards, sideways
Vertical and horizontal
Slow waltzes in evidence
On the pitch,
Toothless,
Moody and melancholy
Static and statuesque
11 mannequins in
A German shop window
Military two steps at times
Passes destined
For nobody in particular
Stunted and blunted
Dull as ditchwater
England stuck in treacle
Even Slovakia made us
Look like a Hackney Marshes 11
Thank goodness Jude
Real Madrid’s most magnificent
Overhead bicycle kick
To treasure for ever
Wondrous leveller
From nowhere
Before Harry Kane
Underlined the signature
Moment of Jude’s life
And England’s salvation
The winner who
Nobody would ever
Have expected
How time stopped
For England
And how close
They were from
Coming home
Amid shame again
Yet still we go
Against Switzerland
Swiss, please don’t miss
Don’t roll over
With tummy tickled
Gareth Southgate’s
Possible last chance
Saloon
England let’s go
It’s now or never
So here we are England
The day before the
Morning mists welcome
The vicars and bicycles who
Trundle down long forgotten
Country lanes
The post man and woman
Cheerily whistle that
Inevitable victory
For Gareth Southgate’s
11 of the best
It’s now or never
Make or break
Obliterate Denmark,
Serbia and Slovenia
From your mind
This is judgment day
A weekend for nail
Biting, teeth chattering
Hiding behind sofas
And, of course Chesterfield
Now there’s a jolly witticism
Tomorrow’s world though,
It’s time to sit and up
And take notice
No more inquests
Back page investigations
Red top tabloid barbs
Childish nit picking
England, your country needs you
To just win
It’s knockout football
And you’re on
The cameras will be
Monitoring your every breath,
That crucial body language
This is the business end
Of Euro 2024
No more caution or fear
Sunday introspection
The group stage sparring
Is officially over
Time to don those
Decisive shooting boots
Of purple, green or yellow
Polka dot hue
And steamroller over
Slovakia
A country of five point four million
People or so we believe
Land locked between
Poland and Romania
Gareth, it’s a piece of cake
Slovakia, of course
Novices at this level
It can’t be that hard
England, surely not
Another struggle
And survival of the fittest
Let’s topple over this
Minor obstacle
But maybe not
Perhaps it’ll be
Complicated as
The Rubik’s Cube
90 minutes of huffing and puffing
Sweating and seething
Crashing into brick walls
No way through
Oh, England this
Eternal mystery,
Making mountains out of
Molehills
Refrain from these infuriating
Bouts of stage fright
Muddled thinking
On paper it should be
Like picking apples from trees
Simple as the times table
Or the ABC
England
That patchwork quilt
Of chocolate box meadows
And sprawling green fields
A picture postcard
From the village souvenir shop
Tomorrow we ask you kindly
Let’s hit the ground running
Immediately
No time for dithering, dallying,
Stepping on the ball indefinitely
Drawing cropped circles
On that green pasture of land
Of fertile German soil
Take Slovakia to the cleaners
We implore you to be ruthless,
Heartless, cruel to be kind
But for a while just models of
Callousness and brutality
But in a legal way of course
So Declan, Bukayo, Phil, Conor,
Marc and John guarding
At the back
Oh yes and Hey Jude
Take a sad song
And make it better
England’s ingenious inventor
Be ready and prepared
For Sunday services
Of triumphant melodies
Tomorrow our hearts
Will be with you
Unquestionably
We need a performance
Some kind of tune
Where hope springs eternal
And any suggestion
That football may be
Coming home
England, oh England
Thank goodness for that
Unbearably slow
90 minutes of slow motion
England reduced to walking pace
Just strolling along the prom
Tedious as the Test Card
If only they’d finished
That last game of noughts
And crosses
Through to the next round
But, oh, for the doubts
Questions and reservations
Not nearly good enough
Against equally as sluggish
Slovenia
Surely the worst
Trio of displays
In Euros history
Still, top of their group
But then England gaze
Into the eyes
Of football’s
Distinguished European
Giants of the universe
And privately tremble
Italy, Spain, France,
Germany, even Portugal
On the evidence of last night
It’s a quick flight home
Back to this green and pleasant land
Not a hope, nor any sign
Of further progress
England, to all appearances
Like men tied together
With a thick rope
At times it felt like
A tug of war
Pulling and pushing
That Slovenian low
Block, Eastern bloc
Rather like pulling teeth
In that dentist’s chair
Go steady with those fillings
And gnashing molars
England, just painful and horrific
At times
Driving headlong into
Cul-de-sacs and
Infuriating traffic jams
Nowhere to go
Rice, Bellingham, Saka
And Foden too
Just trapped in
The land of nowhere
All tangled and twisted
Into a thousand knots
Hinting at goals
But just speculation and
Rumour, little
Concrete evidence
Of where this might lead
It could be
That Gareth’s 11
Could be testing the water
Palmer and Mainoo
Could they be the
Definitive answer?
England, jabbing and sparring
Tentatively and agonisingly
Sporadic hooks and upper cuts
But nothing that suggests
European Champions
We doubt it
Searching for treasures
And yet last night
Barricaded in
Entrances locked
Staggering and stumbling
Through dark alleyways
Italy, France, Germany,
Spain and Portugal
You can almost hear
Them giggling like
Schoolboys with
Victorious conkers
Sorry Gareth
Much more of last night
And it’s a plane
For Gareth Southgate
Your time may be up
We hope not
Farewell, Scotland
They’ll always have their Hogmany
Auld Lang Syne
Amid the rousing skirl of
Heart warming bagpipes
But Scotland are on their
Way back home
The fading odours of
Whisky and a wee dram
Consolation none at all
This was never going
To be an easy watch
Since Germany were
Light years ahead
Of the noble cities
Such as Edinburgh and Glasgow
Dundee and Aberdeen
And Switzerland had only
To hear the Alpine flugelhorn
With tinkling cowbells
To leave the Sassenach spirits
With too many mountains
To climb and reach
Goodbye Tartan army
With your navy roars
Of historical
Flags of honour and
Gallantry, of course
Time to forget what
Might have been
The penalty that should
Have been given
All hypothesis
William Wallace,
Mary Queen of Scots,
Billy Connolly
Sean Connery
They’ll be raising a toast
In the lochs and glens
No shame or regret
Proud Bonny Scotland
But Hungary
Perhaps briefly doffing
A deferential cap
To the vastly incomparable
Puskas
He must have been foremost
In Budapest minds
A winner at the end
Switzerland, Spain and Italy
Bouncing Albanians
Arms linked in show
Of solidarity
Yet Italian stallions
Like stately galleons
Just kept passing
Never fasting
Goals galore
Swiss never miss
To gobble up Hungarian
Goulash for lunch
Spanish armadas
Strike with pretty panache
Bull fighters in perfect disguise
Croatia never in the same ball park
Scotland, brave but battered
It was the opening night
Of Euro 2024 hostilities
The smoke and carnage
Of a Bavarian evening
Scotland, thumped and thrashed
By frightening Germans
It shouldn’t have been like this
But it did happen
We feared the worst
And they were confirmed
Before the game
A huge white inflatable
Sheet stretched across
The hallowed turf
Of Bayern Munich
Suggesting excruciating torture
Scotland, pinned to the ground
Pleading for mercy and clemency
Just for being victims
Of circumstances
But this was a Munich massacre
And Scotland the Brave
Became Scotland the bewildered
We should have known
A crushing defeat for our
Hogmanay heroes
When New Year dawns
It was written in the stars
Omens of misfortune
All around the Allianz Arena
Cards of all colours
Across the rainbow spectrum
Were held aloft
European symbolism at its most
Vividly best
Then the referee blew the whistle
The whisky distilleries of Glasgow,
Edinburgh and all Scottish watering holes
Cried and wept into the alcoholic
Seat of Jack Daniels
Even Bonnie Prince Charlie
Would have sobbed into his
Flagon of mead
Foaming pale ale
Fountains of tears
On navy blue terraces
Flood through Scottish pride
Drowning their sorrows
A night to bury for all time
Sleep peacefully Scotland
Don’t dwell
On what might have been
Since this was a night
Of German excellence
A Teutonic masterpiece
Scotland, strangers in
Sinatra’s night
Simply damage limitation
5-1 should have been
Double the final figure
The Tartan army
Trounced
With almost military
Efficiency and
A passing carousel
That spun around
Dazed navy blue shirts
Three down
With nowhere to go
Before half time oranges
Scotland, lacking in
Any zest or tang
On a night of cards
And German cads
There could have been
Only one result
For now it’s Hungary
And Switzerland
For our tartan friends
Four points
May be enough
The Poetry of Euro ’24 & Fooball Poets 2000-2024 (Revisited)
so much has happened in our world since last time
but suddenly a tournament draws near
so all we ask is keep your poems flowing
soon so soon it will be here once more
and may our rhymes reflect these times -it’s coming
the poetry of Euro ’24
for in the Spring in Stroud back in Two Thousand
we poets sat outside of Mills Café
and in that courtyard round a wooden table
a plan was hatched that still remains today
where once our football words were only spoken
at gigs or when we’d meet up in some bar
with all our thoughts confined to bits of paper
the chance at last to spread our verses far
the idea seemed preposterous and crazy
perhaps we were indeed the only ones
but with the help of Stuart Dave and from me too
the Football Poets website had begun
we launched in June when Summer brought the Euros
to Belgium and to Netherlands that year
and to our joy the poems came in numbers
from those who loved the game from far and near
and meanwhile in that hazy crazy summer
we stood or sat with eyes glued to those screens
when flags would fly on pubs and cars and buildings
we followed in our numbers with our dreams
and hopes grew stronger though our group looked daunting
that golden day when when we beat Germany
only to lose out to Romania
with that despairing last gasp penalty
we drowned our sorrows barely three days later
and we all swore we’d win the thing next time (!)
so we went down to Glaston’bry for Bowie
and Coldplay played the farm for the first time
before we knew of masks or isolation
before the kind of years that we have known
before our media all became so social
before we could not live without our phones
but we’re still here whichever clubs we follow
and all our words arrive here just the same
reflecting still in voices loud and booming
our love or loathing for the People’s Game
and gladly now we have this site to savour
and thanks to Chrstian* so much for it all
who rehoused all your poems in their thousands
and introduced us all here to ‘The Ball’**
so from that fateful meeting in Two Thousand
the friends we’ve made the journey on the way
we carry on with pride and we remember
the plan we hatched that still remains today
and after everything that we have been through
all since our now last distant Euro year
while all our clubs face final games appraching
so suddenly a tournament draws near …
so all we ask is keep your poems flowing
soon so soon it will be here once more
and may our rhymes reflect these times..it’s coming
the poetry of Euro ’24
Euro 2024- the draw
On the day when
The FA Cup’s grand
Bourgeoisie found
Their station in life
The January third round
And those at the higher
End of privilege
And entitlement
Meet the earthy
Grassroots of the
Artisans and tradesmen
Of the lower Leagues
Once again Euro 2024
Hoves into view
Yesterday the draw
Paired together
Europe’s ennobled
Emperors with
Those who quite
Frankly just make
Up the numbers
It’s inferior although
Adequate against France,
Germany, Spain, England,
Facing the fishes swimming
Against the tides
That follow the rest of the
Plankton fighting for recognition
And just falling short,
Hungary, Austria and Switzerland
All worthy and well intentioned
Protagonists of this German play
But sadly overshadowed
By too many glowing shades
Of superiority
Both Hungary, Austria and Switzerland
Once World Cup notabilities
In years and decades gone by
And yet lacking upper body strength
Switzerland once hosts of the Jules
Rimet Cup
Now which skiing slope
Provided the backdrop for
That scenic contest back then?
England for their part
In the most soft focus group
Serbia, Slovenia and Denmark
It could hardly be easier
Book your advanced tickets
Before the Barmy Army
Converge in their multitudinous
Droves, descending on the finest
Of foaming steins of German beer
On paper this could be pieces of cake
But football was never about marzipan,
Battenberg or Black Forest Gateau
Now that’s appropriate
Serbia and Slovenia
Surely overcome without a hint
Of struggle but you never know
With England,
Time for perspective
Never underestimate
At your peril
But victory should
Be for Gareth Southgate’s
Battled hardened soldiers
Only Danish pastries
Could be too sticky and sweet
For discerning English palates
Denmark, never to be
Lightly dismissed
And fully paid up members
Of the football awkward squad
Entertainers for as long as
Any of us can remember
How shocked we were
When Christian Eriksen
Fell horrifically
To the ground
And Danish hearts
Skipped a beat as well
But now the Danes
Offer much more than
Blood, sweat and tears
Pass masters when the
Stars are aligned
And the moon is smiling
Radiantly over the
Bavarian mountain ranges
But now is the time
To take stock before
Fulsome festive fun
And then look ahead
To sparkling German
Football exhibitions
Next summer
Where Scotland return
To European markets
On the well upholstered
Platforms of German
Excellence
Yes Scotland you’re
Up first next summer
Against the hosts Germany
It seems brutally unfair
Since we know how unforgiving
The Germans can be
When they’re riled
And wounded by slanderous
Accusations of not being ready
Or up to the task
Let the tartan brigades
Dry clean their kilts
And tune up their melodious
Bagpipes
Forget the distant mists
Of historic Culloden
And Bannockburn
Mere blots on
The past but
Now the purest sheets
Await Scotland
In yet another Euros
Open the pages slowly
Scotland
But no pomposity from
Decades gone by
When Ally was convinced
His Tartan army
Would be world champions
In no time at all
More of the restrained
Tones and bass lines of
Willie Ormond
Modesty personified
Although just as hungry
For legendary fame
Low key but ambitious
All the same
So let’s lick our lips
Once again
At European football’s
Top table
Foie Gras followed by
The meatiest steak
Cutlery and crockery
Spick and span
The best is yet to come
Italian job done
So there it was
Italian job complete
The doors have been
Emphatically blown up
Not a sight or sound
Of Benny Hill or
Michael Caine
Trattorias and pizzerias
Have served their customers
And football’s Neopolitan
Restaurant replete
With its mouth watering concoction
Italy at its most temperamental
But now mellowing with age
No longer the grizzly bears
Or the gesticulating actors
Finger pointing at referees
Rather like those spoilt children
Who only mature
When their parents lavish
Them with abundant platefuls
Of spaghetti bolognaise
And then Gareth Southgate
With his merry men
Of England
Are Germany bound
For yet more Euro 2024
Revels and celebrations
Of football’s most revered
Europeans
And yet revenge
Is sweeter than
46 years ago
When Sir Trevor and KK
Kevin Keegan
Performed the most
Artistic collaboration
In 1977 Wembley anti climax
Dancing then the heartbreak
Denouement
Denied World Cup place
In spectacular Buenos Aires
During confetti splashed summertime
Then exactly 50 years ago
Poland rocked up to England’s
Stately home
With acrobatic goalkeepers
And then the sadly cumbersome
Bite Yer Legs surely
Sir Norman Hunter
Although without the sword
Poland take the lead
Sniffer Clarke Alan that is
Predator yet not on this occasion
Just a token equalising penalty
No more World Cups before the age
Of the Seventies descended into
Woe and the argumentative voices
Who were just consumed with sorrow
Just emptiness and late night questions
Before night fell in October 1973
But last night
The united forces were bound together
The eateries were open for business
A table for two or maybe more
For Gareth Southgate
Next to the well lit window
Champagne on ice
But reserve that for the
Bavarian foothills
Where those wearing lederhosen
Will be waiting for England again
England calling Germany
Now where have we heard that one before?
But against Italy in Euro sparring
Arenas of qualifying preludes
Citizen Kane, Harry of Bayern
Munich
Now he must have had a premonition
Drives home a conclusive second goal
After the superlative Marcus Rashford
Had levelled the game
With a rocket that almost broke the net
For England
How distant that Italy opener
Must have seemed
Scamacca, a sparkler who
Fizzled out at West Ham
On the spot
Once again though Jude Belligham
Reminded us of world class
Ball control, toying with
The ball and the opposition
Like a rag doll
Here’s the menu Gareth Southgate
Would sir like a beer from Munich?
It seems so apt
Give that man the best steak
In the house
And a Euro trophy
During summertime football
Lull ready to party
We must hope
About This Site
Welcome to Football Poets -- a club for all football poets, lovers of football and lovers of (alternative) poetry. Discover poets in every league from respected internationals at the top of their game to young hopefuls in the school playground.
Publish your football poems here and then discuss them with your team mates and fans. We're archived by The British Library, so your masterpieces are in the safe hands of a world-class keeper. What a result!
My Account
Latest Poems
joe morris
17th November 2024
Crispin Thomas
17th November 2024
kevin halls
10th November 2024
joe morris
10th November 2024
Clik The Mouse
10th November 2024
Clik The Mouse
6th November 2024
Alex Saynor
6th November 2024
joe morris
29th October 2024
joe morris
17th October 2024
Denys E. W. Jones
16th October 2024
Crispin’s Corner
In Memoriam
Kick It Out & Christmas Truce
Latest Comments
13th September 2024 at 6:14 pm
Welcome to Football Poets Beth
Great evocative poem Beth….
More please !
Haiku always welcome.
Hope we (FGR) get to play you again soon
Best
Crispin
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26th July 2024 at 6:25 pm
Great poem Mike Bartram. Eddie was a legend, affectionately known in Liverpool as, “the first hooligan.” Even the hoolies were well dressed in those days. The amazing thing was he was only 26 when that picture was taken. He’d played for Everton youth team and was well known to the players. He never got arrested. They threw him out and he climbed back in, just in time for Derek Temples winner.
I used the picture of him being tackled to the ground on the front cover of my book, “Once Upon a rhyme in Football.” It’s worth looking on youtube and finding the re-enactment of the Wembley scene. Frank Skinner and Baddiel went around to Eddies home in the 1990’s and acted it out on the green outside. It’s hilarious, especially all the effort they put in to get Eddie sober enough to shoot the scene.
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10th July 2024 at 6:07 pm
Hi Crispin,
I don’t know if you’ve see the picture in social media today…
a picture of a teenage Lionel Messi cradling a baby in Africa as part of a photoshoot…. the family had won a lottery to have their baby pictured with him….
the photographer has just revealed that the baby is actually in fact Lamine Yamal!!!!
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26th May 2024 at 2:30 pm
Hi Denys…
Re Man City:
OK it was 20 years ago but Criag Wilson did write this and a few others on them back in 04/05.
BTW I’m more Forest Green Rover since 2014 (and Chelsea) these days . I drum and am a standing season ticket holder .
Best
Crispin
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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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