Football Poets

Graham Lemminkainen Dorrans

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Graham Dorrans, scarlet shirted,
Taker of the Baggies’ spot kicks,
Paces in the D, while round him
From all corners of the stadium
Rise the cries, the jeers, the taunting
From the throats of angry Swans fans.

¶ 2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Does his heart pulsate within him,
Pounding like Titanic’s engines,
Like the heart of deer when hunted,
Or the heart of Vainamoinen
When he wooed Pohjola’s daughter?
Or is he as calm and placid
As the floating swan of Tuonela,
As the clouds that sail the heavens
Or the eagle soaring, gliding,
Heeding not the cries of outrage
Mounting like the thunder, rolling
From the east stand to the west stand?

¶ 3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 He gives us no indication,
For his eyes are hidden from us,
Downward cast in contemplation
Of the line that forms the border
Of the Swansea eighteen yard box,
Waiting while the ref, blue shirted,
Waves away the angry protests
Of the men in white, who press him,
Pointing and gesticulating,
Spitting out their bile and venom
That he should have blown his whistle
And a penalty awarded,
When, inside the eighteen yard box,
Barnes had merely fallen over,
Not been tripped or pushed or shirt-pulled,
But of gamesmanship was guilty.

¶ 4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Dorrans in the D waits calmly,
Loosening his legs and shoulders,
Waiting for the coming signal
From the referee, blue shirted.

¶ 5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 Facing him, the Swansea keeper,
Like a rabbit caught in headlights,
Tries to guess in which direction,
Right or left, the ball will travel,
Weight on one foot, then the other,
Readying himself for action.

¶ 6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 Graham Dorrans, scarlet shirted,
Taker of the Baggies’ spot kicks,
Lifts his head toward the keeper,
Lifts his head and squares his shoulders.
Fierce the lights that shine upon him,
Shining downward from the stand roof.
Fierce the cursing of the Swans fans,
Swearing, spitting blood and feathers
From the dark of terraced east stand,
Voices raised in execration,
Drowning all the Baggies’ cheering.

¶ 7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 Dorrans takes one step, a second,
Just inside the eighteen yard box,
Only now accelerating
Toward the ball that he might smite it.
But the sound of boot on leather
Is not heard above the roaring,
And the flying ball’s trajectory
Scarce is seen; it moves too swiftly.
And its striking of the upright
Is not felt amid the tumult.
Only when the netting shimmers
Do the hosts of cheering Baggies,
Do the other men in scarlet
Breathe again and raise their noisy
Cries of joy, relief and victory.

¶ 8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 Yet again the lad has done it,
From the spot has won the victory
On a night that lacked all promise,
When a nil-nil draw looked certain.
Loud the chanting of the Baggies,
Warm the hugs bestowed on Dorrans
By his tired and grateful team-mates,
Joyful as when Lemminkainen
Set out on his homeward journey.

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