The winning was easy
Or so we all thought
Til the day winning ceased
When our egos were scorched.
The nuns at the convent decided
That St Vincents (us) should have a school team
So desparate were we to be in the side
That our team inspired bouts of day dreaming.
A real coach to the match was some break for us brats
From the football-less stuck back in class
It turned out that the sisters had asked God to act
For some guidance for us out on the (ash) grass.
Three nil, five nil, full of it
We were coasting along without fear
Til one Saturday morn on a pink cinders pitch
We crashed down to earth – ash on our ears.
Every shot fired seemed to fly in
That they hungrily aimed at our goal
In desperation I prayed to me idol Lev Yashin
“Oi Lev comrade, get me out of this hole?”
The shots that I stopped were plain lucky
In truth they just hit me and hard
Yet me shattered young mates thought me plucky,
As the other side tore us apart.
Bordering on tears, aching, in fear
That something might break from a shot
I looked to me mates for a sign or a cheer
Whilst praying the slaughter would stop.
Injuries sullenly came out of nowhere
As cute team-mates decided enough
There woz “Sir can I go to the bog over there?”
Or “Please sir I’m in pain take me off”
Uncle Steve, shoulders back, came toward me
Saw I was beat, near to tears and in pain
“Ere Kev give me that jumper, Oi ref it’s change goalie”
I played out-field for the rest of the game.
The goal feast ceased as the other side retreated
Sure and weren’t fourteen-nought, enough goals?
And the lesson our fate taught me that day:
In defeat, Uncle Steve was me hero!