Football Poets

Football- hey!

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Oh why do we do it to ourselves
The Beautiful Game that turns
Ugly when it doesn’t work out for us
A life time of unflagging devotion
To one team, one narrative,
That mentality of negative
Positive, Triumph, tears
Tantrums. Sulky despondency
When the match is no longer
Lost in the mists of time
Win, lose or draw, the
Same blame, unnecessary
Guilt, the shame
We think it’s our fault
Tormented by doubt
The eternal struggles and strivings
After elusive wins
Week after week
Month after month
About Saturday, Sunday
Even Friday night
Repetition over and over
Again
But we could never live without it
Life is wonderful
Then the self fulfilling
Prophecy when defeat to
Our rivals punctures a hole
In our day, renders the
Duration of evening or
Afternoon, another bleak
Grey wall, nothing in the tank
When defeat could have been
So easily avoided
Oh why do we follow
Those vibrant victories,
Celebrations of promotions
The dark corridors of relegation
Haunted by what might have been
Every minute and second
We perch on the precipice
And then treat the game
Rather like a child’s birthday present
We’ve done it, won the Cup,
League. Anybody for a glass of fizzy
Champers. The recognition that we’ve
Done it in injury time
Then slumped in a private corner
Of inconsolable sadness when
The last day of the season
Means demotion and deflation
Tears on the terraces, children
And adults gaunt of face
Distraught. Is it the Championship
Or dare we say it League One?
Anonymity for another season
For over 45 years ago
You’ve attached yourself to
Claret and blue
Why, the anguish or heartache
Nobody forced you into believing
In your team.
This is not compulsory
You don’t have to worry
About fortunes or misfortunes
Football’s apparent cruelties
Justice snatched by VAR
Last minute winner chalked
Off into another chaotic
Round of heated discussions
So whose idea was it
To devise the complexities
Of Premier League mazes?
Those 3pm kick offs
That played havoc with your
Nervous system, grinding teeth
Nails bitten to the quick.
Those pointless anxieties
Surely there has to be
An alternative to Saturday
Stresses, creased faces
Cursing profanities into
Nowhere in particular
Nine months of hoping and
Dreaming and never
Really knowing why
Working class game
With those historic caps
On theatrical days
Football, hey
Surely the weekly
Trials and tribulations
Could follow a different
Path, No more 40 points
Total required for safety
No more experiences of
Desperation, although
Pour me a pint of delirious joy
When one day the Premier League
Becomes ours
Autumn, spring, winter
We live our lives vicariously
Through football
Because when we were young
They told us we had to be conditioned
To the ups and downs,
The severe hammerings and thrashings
Oh football, we simply engage
Now the European Super League
Rears its grotesque head again
And never question
Let it happen
We’re beyond caring
Football, beyond our understanding

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