Football Poets

Basement Blues

I woke up this mornin’.
Turned on my TV.
Bad nooz was comin’
From the Premier League.
They read out the rankings,
OMG, what a fright.
Cos right down there at the bottom were…
My beloved Blue and Whites!

Yeah, we’re stuck down in the Basement,
Not a single team below.
When you’re anchored to the bottom,
Up’s the only way to go.

We’re blunt in attack.
The midfield’s a mess.
Our keeper’s erratic.
We leak in defence.
Our Gaffer’s a dino –
No tactical nous.
He kept us up last Season,
But a lot now want him out.

Cos we’re deep down in the Basement,
Only way to head is up.
But how on earth we gonna do that,
When we’ve been jilt’ by Lady Luck?

I went to my GP –
Prescribed me some pills.
Said “Take these twice daily,
They’ll cure all your ills…”
Did as I was told,
But it weren’t no use.
What good is any tablet,
When you’ve got the Basement Blues?

If you’re stuck down in the Basement,
There can only be one fix –
That’s to get out of the Basement,
Get out there double-quick!

They say the darkest hour
Comes just before dawn.
I ain’t seen it so dark
Since the day I was born.
“Dark before dawn”?
Hope that sayin’ is true.
If not, we’ll keep on singin’
Them mean ol’ Basement Blues…

4/9/2023
Denys E. W. Jones

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Fever

They’ll never know how much we love ’em.
Never know how much we care.
But when they step out on the Hallowed Turf,
We get a feeling that’s beyond compare.

They give us Fever, in the p.m.,
Fever under bright floodlights.
Mild Fever in Pink or Yellow,
High Fever in Blue and White.

Listen all you Koppites,
Hear these words we have to say:
We don’t really care about your Silverware,
Cos next year a Trophy’s coming our way!

Yes, we’ve seen it, in the tea leaves,
Tarot cards and crystal balls.
Trophy, when next May comes,
Or might as well throw in the towel.

Sun shines bright in morning,
Stars shine clear at night.
Our eyes lit up when we won the Cup,
Just a shame it was in Ninety-Five!

It gave us Fever, down at Wembley,
Fever up on Merseyside,
Fever the whole world o’er,
As Evertonians glowed with pride.

Pin your ears back now, Nick Hornby,
We have read your Fever Pitch –
Nice insights on the Game we love,
But the Arsenal we don’t really dig…

Don’t give us Fever, at the Library,
Nor up here at Goodison.
Fever? Oh, forget it,
There’s really nothing to be done.

Listen all you fans of Citeh,
Tottenham, Chelsea and Man U,
A Grand Old Team’s set for a re-launch,
So look out, cos we’re a-comin’ for you!

We’ll give ya Fever, when we press you.
Fever when we keep it tight.
Fever when we score that…
Winning goal in Fergie Time!

6/8/23
Denys E. W. Jones

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Lateling Laaland

The Toffees have unearthed a Diamond,
Playing in the Swedish League.
“Or maybe the Norwegian one?”
“No, Danish, I believe.”

He’s built like that proverbial House
That’s made of solid brick.
A man for sure, he ain’t no mouse,
He’s champing at the bit.

He cost us only Sixty Grand,
Just like our Stalwart, Seamus.
We’re telling DCL he’s banned,
Well really, can you blame us?

You’ve not yet heard of Laaland?
You will, before too long.
In August New Campaign kicks off,
And he’ll be bang on song!

He’s six foot seven inches tall,
He weighs two hundred pounds.
He’s gonna get us goals galore,
Our dreams now know no bounds!

2/7/23
Denys E. W.Jones

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I Just Can’t Leave That Team Alone!

Until thirteen, disliked Footee!
Perhaps because I played so bad.
Other sports too, the Egg ‘n’ Spoon,
Or weird game played with ball and bat…

Came Pubertee, what did I see?
A bunch of blokes chasing a ball…
‘Most overnight, I saw the Light,
And was converted like Saint Paul!

Became a Fan, not yet a Man,
But still no longer wholly Boy…
Embraced the Game, one Choice remained,
Among all Teams, which to support?

Racked hard my brains, but made no gains,
Trying to sort wheat from the chaff.
So many Strips, so many hues,
Who to root for? I had no clue!

Good pal had I, named Thomson Si,
Who hailed from somewhere up North-West…
From Merseyside, to be precise,
He said: “The TOFFEES are the Best!”

COYB! or Grand Old Team,
He’d sing or chant with so much zest.
Gave me some booze, to get me sloshed,
By then my brain was fully washed!

And one more thing – me Gran, darling,
Grew up in Bootle, Merseyside.
Three Bros had she, all Toffs-Crazee,
So I plumped for the Mersey’s Pride!

Dai D in goal, Big Bob up front,
And in the dugout Bingham Bill.
Shirts Royal Blue, Shorts Persil White,
What could I do? Love at first sight!

Time its course ran…Boy morphed to Man,
But EVERTON have never gone!
Seen Ups ‘n’ Downs, Swings, Roundabouts,
I just can’t leave that Team alone!

Wilson or Heath, then Mrs T,
John Major, Blair or Gordon Brown.
Flyin’ up high, or steep nose-dives,
Ain’t never left that Team alone!

We’ve been up Top, won League and Cup,
And, natch’, have flirted with The Drop.
Through thick ‘n’ thin, I’ve stuck with them,
Have always loved The Toffeemen!

Now here I am, Six Decade Man,
Standing almost at Death’s threshold.
Once more bellow “NSNO”!
Won’t never leave that Team alone…

29/5/23
Denys E. W. Jones

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More about

Football is a simple game
Twenty-two men chase a ball for ninety minutes
and at the end the Germans always win

More about
Football is a simple game
Twenty-two men chase a ball for
90 minutes and at the end of each season –

Everton never get relegated

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Unthinkable

Let’s consider certain beers:
Carlsberg Lager,
Watney’s Red Barrel,
DD (K9P).
These brews are quite undrinkable.

Now ponder on some other things:
One’s own death,
A Tory win at the next General Election,
The Premier League without Everton.
These three are sheer unthinkable!

2/5/23
Denys E. W. Jones

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Ritual Slaughter

Abraham was set to sacrifice his much-loved son.
The good Lord intervened – Isaac reprieved.
Agamemnon needed wind to sail and conquer Troy.
Iphigenia? A nice gift for the gods!
But some say that a deer was killed instead.
Alas, we’re not so lucky as that fabled son or daughter.
Each time we visit Anfield…ritual slaughter.

16/2/23
Denys E. W. Jones

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Sean Dyche Limerick

An out of work Gaffer named Sean,
Heard his phone ringing early one morn.
He accepted a job at a basket case Club,
Then wished he had never been born.

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Sean D’s Blue and White Army

They said we were ungrateful,
When we sacked Allardyce.
And now we’ve fired Frank Lampard –
We really are not nice.

But football’s about winning,
We’re hungry for success,
So poor old Frankie had to go,
He’d got us in this mess.

Nil Satis Nisi Optimum,
We’re serious, don’t laugh.
The Best only is good enough,
We don’t do things by halves.

Once more we’ve a new Gaffer,
Let’s see how things work out.
Our prospects are not rosy,
But we’re in with a shout.

There’s lots of matches left to play,
There’s points there to be won.
The Season’s not yet over,
Fat Lady’s still not sung.

We’re Sean D’s ragtag army,
We’re the Uk’s laughing stock.
And if you’ve got some cash to splash around,
Come buy one of our crocks!

30/1/23
Denys E. W. Jones

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