Football Poets

Exhausted West Ham

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Oh for the stresses and strains
On another exhausting season
So goes the popular consensus
In the world of David Moyes
You can now hear those creaking,
Groaning, snapping, rapidly
Decaying claret and blue limbs
Another season of aches and pains
At every juncture of the season
Pity for those poor darlings
In the claret and blue camp
How could it be otherwise?
Not even half way through
Domestic servitude
For the happy Hammers
And already the creases
And wrinkles of
Worried brows of sweat
Are draining West Ham
Of essential energy
For forthcoming battles
Besides, we’re just under
A fortnight away from
Festive frivolities
And the punishing demands
Are taking their toll
Not even half way through
Premier League jousts
And David Moyes believes
His side of downtrodden,
Aching tendons and groin strains
And a whole host of sprained
Ankles, toes and back strains
Are seeping into the souls
Of West Ham’s latest European
Odyssey.
The agony, the discomfort
But the last Europa League
Meeting with Freiberg
This is becoming too
Strenuous for words
The Hammers are through
To the next round
Of Europa League adventures
But why the grumpy objections
From Scot of the East End
Since this was the schedule
For the rest of England’s
Football ambassadors
Surely no excuses
No plausible arguments
Since we knew where
West Ham were at the start
Of the season
Spinning
A thousand plates
Weighing up the balance
Of probabilities and
Priorities
But then Moyes
Would have you believe
That the Fulham fiasco
Had to be traced
To players with common colds
The symptoms of flu
Suddenly the London Stadium
Becomes Emergency Ward 10
Or more latterly Casualty
More accident and emergency
Excuses for blowing
Hot and cold in Premier League
Fiercely competitive struggles
Against the bad and the good
Have a rest in a dark room
West Ham United
Rest those fingers, arms,
Legs, knees, shoulders and
Of course toes
You deserve Christmas
Jollities, East End
Claret and blue
Blood pressures
Soaring into the
The stratosphere
Of tiredness
Oh stop the season
Just for a while
Those thighs are in
A state of rebellion
There can be nothing left
In the tank
Slow those flexible reflexes
No longer as supple
As they were back in August
Send them to the Savoy
Or a luxury spa in a
Five star hotel
Fulham was inevitable
You could sense it,
See it, feel it in your bones
But now Freiberg
For the final fandango
In football’s first half
Of the European
Business class
So let’s hear it for
The weeping violins
Or maybe this is just
West Ham grinding to
A temporary halt
For it was ever thus
Unbeaten in four
And then startled
By a Cottage industry
That blossomed with
Ten in two games
So tonight West Ham
Be ready to roll over
German resistance
Since the Sunday
Roasting of Hammers
Pride and joy
Has just disturbed
The status quo
It was one bad day
At Craven Cottage
But it could be
More if the engine
Refuses to spark
And the wheels come off
Before Boxing Day
And we all know
What happened then
An 8-2 bloodied nose
Against Blackburn
Surely hopefully
Never again
So West Ham
Recognise your flaws
And the victory bugle call
Buck up your ideas
Or maybe not
Since it is just a game

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