1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 The ball was played out of defence with consummate precision,
But did not cause great difficulty for the opposition.
The striker found himself in an untenable position,
And hesitated, waiting for the ref’s offside decision.
But possibly the linesman had a problem with his vision.
The flag stayed down and all the home fans hooted their derision,
Restrained from violence only by their lack of ammunition,
Echoed by the commentator on the television,
Whose voice was so outraged, it nearly broke the game’s transmission.
He said it was the worst he’d seen in any competition,
And that the ref should be debarred from any league division.
The striker meanwhile, broke towards the goal with great incision,
Flowing hair denoting he was really on a mission,
[Which indeed, he was – he operated on commission]
More despised than any past or current politician,
The referee did not show any signs of great contrition,
In keeping with their natural, historical tradition
[It isn’t in their nature, undertaking a revision,
For that would be a ludicrous, ridiculous admission.]
The custodian came charging out upon his own volition,
And was nutmegged by the striker, as though in an exhibition.
The crowd roared at the referee, demanding his perdition,
Insisting that he be fired to prevent a repetition.
The striker looked in perfect shape, he seemed in great condition,
He’d been doing weights and taking care of his nutrition,
Then, stopping on the line, it seemed he had a premonition,
As though something would occur, for which he hadn’t made provision,
And looking up, it seemed that he was gripped by indecision,
When he was flattened by a bloody great meteorite.



Can’t help feeling that the last line somehow needs a bit of work.

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/demolition/