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Poems tagged ‘Gareth Southgate’

Farewell Gareth Southgate

And so the nation bids farewell
To Gareth Southgate
The one man who immortalised
Waistcoats, beards
And smart designer shirts
On Sunday at least
Quite possibly Fred Perry,
Gucci, some may already know
Southgate, the man
Who gave credibility back to
The England job
The man who didn’t do the dirty
And betrayed us so brazenly
For the Saudi desert riches
Untold,
Yes dear Don Revie
For it was you
The accusing finger
Points at you
You were the treacherous one
Who upped sticks
After that illustrious stint
At Leeds
No. Gareth Southgate
You were the one
Who trusted your
Blossoming kids
Saw them ripen
Like fresh summer
Strawberries from
A groaning red punnet
At Wimbledon
Like Sir Bobby,
Terry, Ron Greenwood
Underrated so you believe
But Gareth Southgate
We’ll never forget
Although some would
Prefer to air brush you from
History, oh no, not us
You were the respectable one,
The quiet and modest gent
Who never looked flustered
Or ruffled, crumpled
Nor stressed or agitated
You guided us gently
Down the path of success
And yes, we’ll say it
With confidence
As you did so repeatedly
Triumphant moments
Without the signature of
Trophies or cups
But who cares?
Two Euro Finals in
Succession
Both lost admittedly
But the endeavour
Was there
Plastered all over Berlin
Strasses, posters,
Advertising hoardings
Like a St George’s homage
Gareth Southgate
You were the one who
Revived flagging
Team spirits
At St George’s Park
Who invented team bonding
Camaraderie and bonhomie
In equal measure
Who brought the nation
Together when all appeared
To be lost and we were
Crestfallen since none of us
Thought we’d ever climb
Out of the hole
That Capello and Sven
Might have left wide open
Gareth Southgate
One World Cup semi final,
A World Cup quarter final
And not quite over the line
Did you cross
This was your CV,
Your positive legacy
Of course
The England job
Was always likely to
Be the poisoned chalice
But Gareth,
You were all over this one
Through that infectious fist pump
When victory was ours, but
No Bank Holidays or open topped bus
Parades and festivities
But to misquote an old song
Maybe next time
The cynics might tell us
Perhaps it’ll never happen
Doomed in the dank dungeons
Of narrow defeats and buried
In the depths of wretched
Failure and close run things
But as you clear your desk today
At the FA, today
Gareth Southgate
It was much closer than you think
To coming home
Thankyou Gareth Southgate
We wish you well

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Penalty Shootout in Zero Gravity

It was Barry’s idea, so
he only has himself to blame.
For all the thrill of orbital flight,
of seeing the Earth from space,
those journeys are so damn boring.

I admit to sneaking the ball in,
and that Barry was winding me up.
The running commentary didn’t help,
calling me Gareth Southgate,
him being Andreas Köpke.

No one could have predicted
the ball would hit the airlock button,
just when Barry was leaping up,
trying to stop my rocket blast,
straight to the top left corner.

Perhaps he’ll be a hero yet,
get a glove to an asteroid
hurtling towards the Earth.
The slightest of deflections,
nudging it over the bar.

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Far From Down. In London Town.

Aim dog’s abuse at; the manager,
Spineless members of the team,
The slick suave svelte, Forza Italia
Destroyed a united nation’s dream.

Try n ignore those rabid Billy Bunters
Embarrass our beloved country on T.V
National anthems, jeered in front of us,
Those who choose to take the knee.

Come the harsh dawn of reality
Reflecting on the game
Take the plus’s, fluff the history
Look toward, with what was gained.

That curse of losing semi-finals
At long last, laid to rest
For those detractors in denial
We lost, a game o’ chance agin the best.

A young team, plus classy gaffer
With-out baggage on his back
Might eventually be the answer
To a winning mentality we lack?

On a sunny morning, penning a poem
In a shattered, hung-over London town
Football may well be at home in Rome
But…I ain’t letting that get me down.

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Finally

An Exocet crashes neath a bar
Courtesy of a fledgling rising star
Progeny o’ Hans Christian Andersen’s wonderland
Portly partisan punters scream aghast
Having conceded one at last
Coming home, ain’t looking like the red-tops planned?

Suddenly…an O.G, a double dodgy dubious pen?
A more than able Kane, eventually prevails…again
The marauding Danes resolutely held at bay
A steely Southgate throws on an ace in guile
Forgoing a Jack oozing panache n style
To grind out a dour result, yet win the day.

Gareth’s ultimate goal, achieved,
A final reached, a nation mightily relieved
The curse of losing semi’s finally laid to rest
On Sunday evening Forza Azzurri, our foe
Past-masters in guile, stop, start, catenaccio,
Whom if we desire to be The Best? An awesome test.

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Raheem, Raheem, Raheem, Raheeem…

A sterling performance
Scenes of afternoon delight
Southgate’s outfit portray a suave slick , sartorial elegance,
A bunch a deft dapper dandies, and…not a waistcoat in sight.

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The Pessimistic Predictor

I know with predictions you can eat what you say
ENGLAND EXPECTS
Things to go – England’s way

But here’s what I think
coach Southgate will preach
When they lose in the quarters
then head to the beach.
“The players they were tired they’d all had a long season
I’m not making excuses but it seems a good reason.
The lads were magnificent they gave all that they had.
To go out on those spots kicks was so very sad.
We practiced pen-os in training
We marked all our cards
But you won’t beat the Germans
when the balls at twelve yards.
We all feel for young Declan
He’s got the support of the group
But he’ll now get a commercial
Advertising Rice and bean soup.
We’ll regroup and move on
it will make us much stronger
England will lift up a trophy
Sooner rather than longer
We’ll Make England Great
I know it sounds Presidential
But it will be next year in Qatar
When we’ll reach our potential.”

Then a pressman storms in
And shouts from the back
Do you know Gareth
You’ve just got the sack?

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Three Lions: One Thousand not out!

Eighteen Seventy Two it all began
England setting the benchmark
Ballynafeigh, Josy Barthel, Levski
A World Record at Hampden Park

Sir Alf’s Wingless Wonders
World Champions in Sixty Six
They all stood up at the Maracana
When Barnes pulled his box of tricks

I saw Maradona’s hand cause mayhem
I savoured Platt’s Belgian volley
Psycho Pearce bought the house down
Gazza’s tears and Euro stunner at Wembley

Neil Webb the thousandth player
Sir Stanley Matthews was a dream
Lampard, Shearer, Gerrard hard to bench
Time to name my Three Lions team

Banks, Parker, Rio, Cole
Bobby Moore with the long sleeves
Gazza, Robson, the younger Charlton
Rooney, Lineker, Greaves

14 11 19

number7
© emdad rahman

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“Extra! Extra! Read All About It…

A sallow, inflatable prez
May (sic) think he’s some sort of a ledge
During a presidential visit to Trumpton this week
But he don’t come across
Like the sharp bit of M an S cloth, whose simply been boss
In The Soccer, tuned in with the fan on the street”.

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Source: http://footballpoets.org/news/poem-tags/gareth-southgate/