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Poems tagged ‘Torquay United’

How low can you go?

Dave Martin

Saturday, January 1st, 2022

Football chants can be a source of great joy.
I was at Elland Road one Saturday
when the home fans taunted hapless local
rivals Barnsley, whose full back had just shanked
the ball into the stand where I was sitting,
by singing, ‘Have you been watching Torquay?’
What a cheek I complained, albeit true.
We were bottom of the Football League,
heady heights to us today. Football chants
can also be a source of great shame.
Many are out of Torquay fans’ reach. We
never play Man U so can’t riff on Munich;
nor Liverpool’s poverty, we have food banks ;
but a Yeovil player’s suicide? Too low.

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Injury Time

Dave Martin

Sunday, May 23rd, 2021

This season we’ve been living in injury time
going to games on BT sport or live-stream feed
and watching on aghast as fatalities climb.

Torquay have earned so many points in extra time
because of our players’ refusal to concede
the result, that fans are calling it Gary time.

In the autumn our team play was simply sublime.
We looked equal to winning the National League
until the numbers on our injury list climbed

to include centre-backs, wingers, our number nine,
mid-field and full-backs. Now for promotion we need
two play-off wins, our whole season’s in extra time.

While social media has spewed out racist slime
and the bigger clubs have demonstrated their greed
ordinary football fans have watched on aghast,

grateful they support a club outside the big time
who may, in June, return to the Football League.
This season we’ve been living in injury time
and watching on aghast as fatalities climb.

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1966 and All That

Dave Martin

Tuesday, March 16th, 2021

It’s not easy being an assistant referee,
scurrying up and down, up and down the touch line,
when there are so many shenanigans to see.

Was an attacker standing offside is the key
judgement you must make, but the margins are so fine.
It’s not easy being an assistant referee,

you need to be eagle-eyed, as fit as a flea,
able to draw parallels without log or cosine,
while there are so many shenanigans to see.

When the left winger went down like a chainsawn tree
was the right back’s elbow an accident or malign?
It’s not easy being an assistant referee,

signalling a throw while the home crowd disagree
loudly behind you, call you every kind of swine.
When there are so many shenanigans to see

you don’t want to be like that Azerbaijani,
famous just for flagging the ball had crossed the line.
It’s not easy being an assistant referee,
when there are so many shenanigans to see.

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What Steve Wants

Dave Martin

Sunday, February 21st, 2021

We need to find a number nine
Before it’s too late, to lead our line.

Someone good in the air, full of flair,
With nifty footwork, like Fred Astaire.

Who’ll press to help our midfield pack
In matches when we’re on the rack.

Able to hold up play, home and away,
And do the business, every Saturday.

Above all to score thirty goals a year
Like Alan Shearer in a different era.

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Please Gamble Responsibly

Dave Martin

Wednesday, February 3rd, 2021

Since when did I need to take a bet to enjoy
the beautiful game? Yet it’s everywhere I look.
Betting company logos splashed across players’
chests, scrolling endlessly on the hoardings pitch-side,
occupying whole pages of match day programmes
and constantly popping-up on live stream TV.

Please Gamble

Do I need some has-been actor, coach, player,
national treasure telling me it’s more fun to bet
in-play? Concentrating on the action it seems
is not enough; I should also make a wager
on which player will score first, and how, with what part
of his anatomy, his foot, his head or shoulder

Please

or on how many assists, bookings, corners, free
kicks, penalties, offsides, red cards or shots there will be.
The full ninety minutes reduced to numbers, odds
that ensure there is only ever one winner,
the reason why new punters are offered free bets.
Do you remember when we went to watch them play?

When the fun stops, stop.

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Live Streaming Away

Dave Martin

Friday, January 8th, 2021

It’s not easy being a live streamer,
not easy at all,

when hapless camera crews seem
incapable of following the ball
or wiping rain drops from the lens
while we can see nothing at all
or zoom so far from the action
we could be up a mountain in Nepal.

It’s not easy being a live streamer,
not easy at all,

when enjoying such poor sound, plus
punditry so partial it’s funnier
than the late Bobby ‘Rock on Tommy’ Ball.
To add insult to injury, the gall,
they’re charging us £9.99 to watch
this live football.

It’s not easy being a live streamer.
No, not easy at all.

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A Tasty Fixture

Dave Martin

Wednesday, November 18th, 2020

The seagulls circling over Plainmoor
are not bothered about the final score,
don’t care we’re not in the Premiership,
they’ve got their eye on a tasty chip.
Three whistles signals the end of the match
to fans but to gulls it means an easy catch.
Like dive bombers they scream out of the sky
to feast on discarded pasty or pie
before the crowd’s even left. What I’ve missed
is – how do they get hold of our fixture list?

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#ComeOnYouYellows

Dave Martin

Monday, October 26th, 2020

Standing at my sister’s bedroom window
I used to watch half the match.
Not a forty-five minute half,
but half the pitch; the Warbro Road end.
The old pop-side-terrace shed blocked
my view of the rest.

Now I see the match through a screen,
sitting on my settee. That shed
is long gone but with grounds closed
I must live-stream the action
on my laptop. The view is better,
but the atmosphere’s flat.

Through the pane, across the road,
I could hear the fans roar,
sense their excitement as United attacked.
That’s missing now. Instead I hear
managers and players curse and shout.
And I can SHOUT too, on Twitter.

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Leaving Five Minutes Before the Game is Over

Dave Martin

Monday, October 12th, 2020

to avoid the ‘crowds’ at Plainmoor is a misnomer.

It’s like
reading a whodunit and tearing out the final page;
going to a play but not watching the ending on stage;
going out to dine and not finishing your meal;
going to the pictures but not stopping for the second reel;
going to a concert and not waiting for the encore;
or missing United’s ninetieth minute score.

It’s like leaving the celebration before
the bride says I do;
the baby cries boohoo;
the graduates throw their caps;
the Torquay crowd claps.

It’s like
not eating every Rolo in the tube;
but most of all, it’s downright rude.

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The Burger Bar

Dave Martin

Saturday, October 3rd, 2020

At the burger bar the cooks grill and fry
while the Yellow Army queue to buy –
chips with a beefburger, cheeseburger,
double cheeseburger, belly buster,
hot dog, or even a local pie.

Perhaps the steak pasties catch your eye,
but if you don’t want an animal to die
choose cheesy chips or a veggie burger
at the burger bar.

The prices charged are really not that high
though the fat levels may make your doctor sigh.
There are sauces to suit each supporter –
ketchup, mustard, H.P, salt and pepper.
Our half-time hunger we can all satisfy
at the burger bar.

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Source: http://footballpoets.org/news/poem-tags/torquay-united/