Football Poets

Ground Zero

There’s a new sensation that’s going around
Like changing the name of your team’s ground
It takes a while to get used to a new name
And to many of the fans it isn’t quite the same

Take Bolton Wanderers who aren’t the only one
It was the Reebok Stadium now it’s the Macron
The fans didn’t like it and still they all say?
“We’re going to the Reebok to see the Whites play”

Newcastle United now who would have thought?
By ground changing name left fans distraught.
Without St James Park our fans cannot connect
Especially with the name Sports Soccer Direct

But we’ll have to get used to changes like this
whilst the fans continue to reminisce
The sponsorship money keeps some clubs afloat
Because sentiment’s no match for a Banknote.

Be the first to leave a comment »

Curtain Call

Near silent grounds, though the stadiums are full.
The atmosphere of old, I think they’re out to cull.
Corporate boxes and suites, the way they want to go.
They within many a fans budget, I hardly think so!
A vibrant Spion Kop, a noisy Stretford End of old.
Is what we need today, no matter what we’re told.
Through the turnstile early, cash of course in hand.
Find your ‘spec’ and keep it, the only place to stand!
No fancy concourse then, a little snack bar did the trick.
Now it’s like a high street, every box they want to tick.
We all want match safety and a freedom of choice for all.
But grounds are becoming theatres, just add a curtain call.
I will support any action for standing to make a return.
Every lesson has been dealt with, that there was to learn.

1 Comment »

My first boots

My first pair of boots I’ll have you know,
Were made of old leather, and cramped at the toe.
Ankle high with laces so long,
And a crinkled flap they called a tongue.
Studs worn down with lots of use,
The stitching in them coming loose.
Handed down from an uncle of mine,
He’d got some new one’s, they’d served their time.

Standing proud in Stanley Park,
Before the gates closed, it was getting dark.
A tennis ball lying there on the grass.
My whistle blew, and I made my first pass.
Running like mad, I received the ball,
Kicked for goal, missed, and had a fall.
I played for ten minutes and beat everyone,
The game played by myself, the first one I’d won.

Home again, I brushed off the mud,
Cleaned underneath, around each stud.
Picking the grass from all the lace holes,
Getting them ready to score more goals.
Tomorrow I’ll ask mum to get some Dubbin,
I’ll work it in with lots of rubbin.
I’m a footballer now; just you wait and see,
We’ll have to practice, them boots and me.

Be the first to leave a comment »