|

Poems tagged ‘football is with you all the way.’

Oh for days of yore

joe morris

Wednesday, March 6th, 2024

Oh for the cruel injustices
Of the offside law
The very definition of
A mundane goal-less bore
Fine margins, sprays and
VAR, toes, elbows and nose
Quite frankly who knows?
The game seemed so
Straightforward and clear
With cherished ideals so dear
There was the half back, inside
Forward and the stubborn
Stopper
Now as ancient
As the proverbial gobstopper
We had goal-keepers, full backs
And fine, upstanding centre halves
When defenders did their utmost
To find elusive calves
And shin pads, still the case
The loyal and trustworthy bootlace
As time stood still
We never lost the will
At 3 in the afternoon
Anytime soon
And Saturdays couldn’t
Have come more quickly
Even when we were sickly
Now they track back,
No time to be slack
The mysterious low block
It’s so easy to mock
High pressing and dressing
Never messing
Just confessing, what a blessing
Professing to be our game
When tackling was so lame
The game with its floral pattern
We gather it’s played on Saturn
So this weekend please remember
Even in December
The days when football was all
About coats and goalposts
And the home side were but perfect
Hosts
And nothing will take away
The vocal solidarity and the
Kids just loved to play
And we passed and crossed
Midfielders who bossed
And striker was a giant
So pliant
Whose shorts brushed his ankle
Those refs would so persistently
Rankle with fans riled and wild
Matthews, Lawton and Dean
Football never lost its lustre
And sheen
The game had simplicity
Authenticity but you always knew that
Please no more back chat
Since they’ve now chanced
Upon the blue card
What can be so hard to understand?
The game was never played on sand
First there was red and yellow
There goes the jolly good fellow
Colours so bright and vivid
Yes we know you’re utterly livid
But now there’s all seating
Fans united and hearts beating
Throughout the ages
Regardless of wages
Football was there for us
Even in the days of the old
Route Master bus
And they lit up the tobacco
Crosby and Hope
Led us to the road
To Morocco
Milk and bread were a shilling
Flanagan and Allen dominated
Top billing
Now the millions and billions
Of football’s maddening money
How can that be funny?
But we’ll always have football
Its cheerleaders and bandleaders
Come rain, snow and shine
To be sipped with the finest bouquet
Of wine, please dine
In hospitality boxes
Seemingly toxic
Then laddish banter
We’re sure win to in a canter
Bullish humour and bonhomie
The ultimate camaraderie
Half time followed by full time
No excuse for a whine
While injuries dragged out
By at least half an hour
Football holds of course
All the power
Now come on lads
A quick shower
Before counting the costs
Of pulled groins and joins
Football revels in the present
The bold and pleasant,
City, Rovers, United and Town
The despondent frown
When defeat means no crown
Of three points and more
Hat-tricks at the door
Please football keep going
We love its endless gloating
4-0 to us and nobody else
We deserve it all ourselves
Promotion what a blast
We knew it would last
Premier League on our mast
On the front foot and make
It fast, now pronto
The enduring sign
On our motto
Football on any day
We wouldn’t swap it
For any other way

Be the first to leave a comment »

Beaten by Klopp’s show boaters

joe morris

Thursday, April 27th, 2023

We suspected as much
Claret and blue
Beaten by Merseyside
Show boaters again
This time at the London Stadium
Grandstanding gadabouts
Liverpool nudge open creaking door
Back into Europe
But not into the once
Hardy perennial garden
Of the Champions League
Bright and beautiful
Floral display
Last night the Hammers
Outclassed, hung out to dry
So the jaunty stroll
Along the Bournemouth promenades
With carnival floats of goals
At the Vitality
Left the Cherries in sour
Moods of reflection
Trembling trepidation
Fear not perhaps since
The Hammers are brothers
In arms near the bottom
Of the Premier League
Kindred spirits near
Relegation trapdoors
Anguish in April
Plastered across their
Weather beaten, haggard faces
Last night claret and blue
Rinsed and washed
Dry cleaned, polished off
With embarrassing ease
By Klopp’s band of
Champagne football
Fizzing across the spring
Green acres of the East End
Passes spun and woven together
In delightful spider’s webs
Football’s groves of academia
Where classical lessons are taught
In lands of enchantment
Last night we knew Mo Salah,
Jordan Henderson, Virgil Van Dijk,
Fabinho, Joel Matip would pool their
Well endowed resources
With tools of gold, silver
And bronze
Pot shot from distance
Lucas Pacqueta gave something
For West Ham to chew on
Briefly with a shot and goal
From the hip
Before Liverpool surged back
With Mersey waves of familiarity
The genetic classes of beauty
And brilliance
Once sung from the Kop
Still do so, to the same
Themes of Shanks, Bob Paisley,
Joe Fagan, Ronnie Moran
We could go on and on
Ad infinitum
The old and new currency
Handsome documents and
Scriptures from Anfield’s
Illustrious past
Where deeds and thoughts
Of Ron Yates, Ian Callaghan,
Peter Thompson, Emlyn, KK
Kevin Keegan and Tosh
Left deep masculinity
And male laddishness on
Liverpool’s breastplate
Of manliness on the doorstep
Where red carpets are always
Welcome, make yourself at home
So Liverpool puff out their cheeks
Again, breathing down the necks
Of Europe’s palatial
Hallways, Europa League
May be their own aim
Realistically
But who knows
The Premier League
Slowly winding
Towards its final
Breathless palpitations
Liverpool, still in
Bones of contention
And West Ham
Hoping and wishing
That Euro Conference
Expeditions may not be
The architects of their
Downfall,
As Brian Moore memorably intoned
It’s up for grabs
Hammers horrendous season
Still in the grip of tense
State of neurosis
Please end the season now

Be the first to leave a comment »

Hillsborough – it must never happen again

joe morris

Sunday, April 16th, 2023

Yesterday, the nation stopped
Its hustle bustle, its frantic
Pace of life
To pay its respects to those
Who so painfully lost theirs
Hillsborough 1989,
A memorial stone in our hearts
The day English football
Fell silent, quiet and grave
As the sombre rivers of tears
Flowed like burning ashes
From the corners of our soul
Oh horrendous images
On the weather beaten and haggard
Creases of tortured faces
Never ever again
Wrinkles of foreheads
Now scarred by time
But never forgotten
Agonised and contorted
By something beyond
Our and your comprehension
The day 97 families were ripped
Apart from the central core
Of their lives
When sons, daughters, fathers
Mothers, nieces and cousins
And uncles too
The Hillsborough disaster
Like a severe punch in the rib cage
So many needless stretchers
And ambulances, death
Sounding its sonorous sirens
But it could have been avoided
So easily
Hundreds and thousands
Of Liverpool and Forest fans
Locked together like proverbial sardines
For years and years
Decades and decades
It seemed like madness
Show them to their seats
Pretend it’s a West End theatre
Where luxury and comfort
Are the only concern
It’s not rocket science
Football supporters seated
Comfortably in their sweet
Cocoon of safety
Instead Hillsborough
Witnessed Liverpool and Forest
In an FA Cup semi final
It should have been football
At its purest and most composed
Instead all hell broke loose
Ugly death carved on a simple
Saturday evening
Never ever again
Cherish life
Always joyous.

Be the first to leave a comment »

Football- hey!

joe morris

Saturday, February 11th, 2023

Oh why do we do it to ourselves
The Beautiful Game that turns
Ugly when it doesn’t work out for us
A life time of unflagging devotion
To one team, one narrative,
That mentality of negative
Positive, Triumph, tears
Tantrums. Sulky despondency
When the match is no longer
Lost in the mists of time
Win, lose or draw, the
Same blame, unnecessary
Guilt, the shame
We think it’s our fault
Tormented by doubt
The eternal struggles and strivings
After elusive wins
Week after week
Month after month
About Saturday, Sunday
Even Friday night
Repetition over and over
Again
But we could never live without it
Life is wonderful
Then the self fulfilling
Prophecy when defeat to
Our rivals punctures a hole
In our day, renders the
Duration of evening or
Afternoon, another bleak
Grey wall, nothing in the tank
When defeat could have been
So easily avoided
Oh why do we follow
Those vibrant victories,
Celebrations of promotions
The dark corridors of relegation
Haunted by what might have been
Every minute and second
We perch on the precipice
And then treat the game
Rather like a child’s birthday present
We’ve done it, won the Cup,
League. Anybody for a glass of fizzy
Champers. The recognition that we’ve
Done it in injury time
Then slumped in a private corner
Of inconsolable sadness when
The last day of the season
Means demotion and deflation
Tears on the terraces, children
And adults gaunt of face
Distraught. Is it the Championship
Or dare we say it League One?
Anonymity for another season
For over 45 years ago
You’ve attached yourself to
Claret and blue
Why, the anguish or heartache
Nobody forced you into believing
In your team.
This is not compulsory
You don’t have to worry
About fortunes or misfortunes
Football’s apparent cruelties
Justice snatched by VAR
Last minute winner chalked
Off into another chaotic
Round of heated discussions
So whose idea was it
To devise the complexities
Of Premier League mazes?
Those 3pm kick offs
That played havoc with your
Nervous system, grinding teeth
Nails bitten to the quick.
Those pointless anxieties
Surely there has to be
An alternative to Saturday
Stresses, creased faces
Cursing profanities into
Nowhere in particular
Nine months of hoping and
Dreaming and never
Really knowing why
Working class game
With those historic caps
On theatrical days
Football, hey
Surely the weekly
Trials and tribulations
Could follow a different
Path, No more 40 points
Total required for safety
No more experiences of
Desperation, although
Pour me a pint of delirious joy
When one day the Premier League
Becomes ours
Autumn, spring, winter
We live our lives vicariously
Through football
Because when we were young
They told us we had to be conditioned
To the ups and downs,
The severe hammerings and thrashings
Oh football, we simply engage
Now the European Super League
Rears its grotesque head again
And never question
Let it happen
We’re beyond caring
Football, beyond our understanding

Be the first to leave a comment »

Source: http://footballpoets.org/news/poem-tags/football-is-with-you-all-the-way/