Football Poets

England beaten again in Italy.

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 England relegated from the UEFA
Nations League,
Oh what stuff and nonsense
An utterly preposterous notion
Idiotic gibberish and drivel
But beaten in the San Siro
That legendary bastion of
Neapolitan dreams
Now ready for the knacker’s yard
Ripe for demolition
Blasted into the ancient
Antiquated past
Italy rub salt into English wounds
After Euro 2020 Final dreadful
Debacle. How dare history
Repeat itself so soon after
The Wembley anti climax
Juddering and shuddering
Disaster
But last night it all
Unravelled again
Like the fragile cotton reel
Not long now until
Saudi World Cup
Winter mysteries explored
Plots thickening rapidly
England now in the
Slough of despond
A slump, defeated
By just a goal but
Heads are dropping
Body language obvious
Gareth Southgate
A worried and careworn man
Like the man who may have
Lost his valuable credit card
And substantial wage packet
Clapping but sallow faced
Beard bristling with concern
England, poor, listless,
Going nowhere
Drained of Euro 2020 passion
Flabby, grubby, dishevelled
Rather like the men who
Forget their morning shave
Dier, Rice, Bellingham,
Citizen Harry Kane,
Sterling and Saka
Like stranded men
On an idyllic desert island
Moving but not really
Connecting, off the pace
Still trying to find
Their co-ordinates
Harmonies in attack
Out of tune and
Distinctly off key
Italy, not visitors
To this World Cup
Extravaganza
Once privileged guests
At this high society
Gathering of wits and
Footballing intellects
We’ll miss the
Hot headed fires of
Petulance, arguments
With referees,
The finger pointing
And hysterical histrionics
The butter wouldn’t melt
In their mouth
The shock and wonderment
At perfectly legal goals
Offside simply not in
Their specific rule book
Memories of Rivera, Pirlo,
Zoff, the maestro Tardelli
And the master Maldini
Rocks and walls
At the heart of the Italian
Golden age
Then Rossi and Begetta,
Who once ruled
Over the trattorias,
Piazzas and pizza
Parlours of those
Timeless cultural
Melting pots
Where huge families
Still enjoy the alfresco
Company of each
Washed down with
Endless bottles of Chianti
and Asti, then
Football in Azzuri tones
The land of Serie A
Last night Raspadori
Jinked, darted, checked
Shifted quickly
Back inside Kyle Walker
Before rifling home
The winner of winners
A beauty, yet more
Pearls of wisdom
Now for Germany
Once again
A year ago when
Teutonic thoroughness
Was rumbled, caught
Red handed
Oh for another 1966
A longing for repetition
Just for a while tomorrow
Since the cavalry charge
Of the Premier League
Rears its lucrative head
Next week, egos bruised
And scarred, projects
And ambitions restored
Players diving like early
Evening swallows in orange
Sunsets, penalty areas alive
With dishonourable intentions
Players still equipped with
Tricks up their sleeve
That’s offside by a toe- nail
Or an arm pit, the length of
A strand of hair
Players pulling the wool
Over our eyes
Loaded with simulation
And duplicity
Getting away with it
Football in Italy
And England
A lavish meal
For two

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