Football Poets

60 shortly

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 It’ll be 60 for yours truly next
Wednesday when some of us became aware of
Football’s pulsating melodies and threnodies
Those anguished breast-beating moments
Against opponents of four yearly cycles
When the world searched for tantalising titles
When World Cups were fair and sensible
And you tried to be responsible
Then at the tender age of seven
Oh what footballing heaven
Your footballing sensibilities were awoken
But never broken
The 1970 World Cup, Mexican mariachis
Plucking at your tender heartstrings
When childhood always sings
The Brazil of Tostao, Gerson, Rivelino
And the angelically incomparable Pele
Oh how we must have longed for this moment
Even while blissfully unaware
We could never square
The epic magnitude and attitude
Consequences, results and fractions
Of their actions, reactions
And now once again on the verge
Of your 60th birthday, November day
The anniversary of your arrival
Without rival
They grace your senses
In all manner of tenses
Bliss, nirvana
It was fated to be this way
This time Neymar and the Hammer
They clamour for
Paqueta in the desert storm
The accepted norm
Caught up on the charred and burnt
Embers of the sullied stands
Where lurk Saudi men with bands
Banning, outlawing, snarling
Occasionally disarming
We must hope for the right way
Oh OK
Then sneering, not cheering at World Cup
Festivals, heartless and fearless
Disapproving but careless
In their affections and vocal inflections
No alcoholic celebration
Just avoid the lager of temptation
Should ever pass their lips
Bring on the swaying of Brazilian hips
Then we look the other way, we would never say
At those we despise
Who were we to express surprise?
The ones who just want to party
And have a good time, once again
Time to shine
And yet the Saudis were the ones
Who remained inhumane
So one 60 year old
Will steady his nerves
All the curves and swerves
Of football’s finest
And address his conscience
Without any foresight or prescience
Because we know who we are
Although those in the Middle
East clearly don’t.
Time to pause and recognise
The pros and cons
Rights and wrongs
A World Cup in Qatar
It just sits uncomfortably
In our rational minds
Twisting and turning
And never finds
Plausible solutions
Just incandescent with fury
Why oh why
Qatar the country none of us
Could shape our perceptions
Of how football used to be
Many moons ago
For the first time in a long time
Football fans the world over
Are restless and hurt
Over this World Cup
Diseased and tormented
With feverish doubt
The one that got away
And then regretted because
We could never understand
Its origin, the provenance
Of where exactly it came from
The tortured brain of Sepp Blatter
For we thought it was his fault
Amid brazen admissions of guilt
Where empires were once built
Will haunt him at breakfast, lunch
And supper, Blatter let’s scupper
Your dreams
Upon the march of World Cup teams
Too late now Sepp thank goodness
You’re gone and out, a foolish roustabout
History at the dawn of the wheel
While huge towers of gold and steel
Stare unapologetically over sand and sea
Those gleaming hotels of obscene wealth
In the rudest health
Tomorrow we’ll await opening ceremonies
And extraordinary melodies from temples
Where once doom will sweep the gloom away
For World Cup playgrounds of joy, oh boy
Where once we paid homage to Brazilians
Who abound in the round, never found to be
Wanting of exquisite skill
Touched by the indescribable will
To improvise still,
To the present day
Their way
Where the bold and beautiful
Are somehow dutiful
Will ply their craft
Never ever daft, but
Immensely sensitive
Not evenly remotely tentative
Go for it Brazil, England, Argentina,
Spain, Germany
Paint brushes by the ready
Now let’s be steady
A World Cup in November
It still feels surreal
A stage where Dahli may
Well have felt at home
But never alone
Onwards and upwards
England, Gareth Southgate
Monday, Iran
We’ll be there
Or maybe we won’t

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