Football Pools

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Me Dad would turn on “Final Score”
And stretch out longways on the floor,
And as the teleprinter flicked,
His coupon would be crossed or ticked.
Sometimes he’d cheer, sometimes he’d tut,
Or wave a most frustrated foot,
Or let a curse at Mansfield Town
For letting his predictions down.
What used to make him most irate
Was only perming four four from eight.
Sometimes he’d be waiting on
The late result from Darlington,
And claimed that it was quite obscene
That games kicked off at three fifteen.
Once or twice he won a bit,
And gave me sixpence out of it,
But mostly Clyde and Stenhousemuir
Conspired to keep the oul’ lad poor.


Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/football-pools/