1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Hero

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 They talk about Finney and Matthews revere them legends of yore
We’ll add the lion of Vienna when he has given his last roar
But when I look back to my formative seasons
When the Anglo Scottish cup seemed like a good reason
To badger our dad for the just enough cash
To secure a place on the terraces and witness the clash
Days before wine, work and women I can’t name
Sought to dilute my love and commitment to the beautiful game
There’s no doubting who my choice to join them is
As the mind dulls with age he seems never to have missed
I’ll not be alone in my choice I am sure
But his showboating style may prove less of a draw
For those who control the so called halls of fame
Too quick to prize effort over technique and blame
Ignorance of style on “demands of the new game”
Me dad never liked him, “doesn’t work hard enough!”
often eighty odd minutes went without his best stuff
My old fellar would bluster get red in the face
“he’s just a lazy bugger he’s not worth his place”
other voices would join him and get on his back
I would feel slighted my lads opinions discounted
Anonymous minutes ticked down desolation mounted
Then receiving the ball in an unthreatening position
to continue the theme and attract new derision
in the blink of an instant that would fill sports reports
With a shake of his shoulders shirt outside his shorts
He would Shimmy and turn glide past three defenders
And light up the week for 5000 Lever enders
Keepers of all classes were left grasping air in distress
Rounded, lobbed, chipped, bemused with finesse
No matter how dour the struggle, how grey the day
He never failed to send me away
Shaking my head laughing in wonder and joy
My faith repaid ten fold, no better hero for a boy
Than a ‘long haired, scruffy, head banded old lad’
Who delivered magic to order and drove our dad mad.
Forget your Cantona’s and their flash Nike adverts
Here was a football god without replica shirts.
Now when I see him on the box or at matches
off on the wind I can just hear the snatches.
Of the anthem we roared to salute our favourite son
OH Frankie Frankie, Frankie Frankie Frankie Frankie Worthington!


This is the joy of football because many people probably couldn’t stand him. You may be one such and I don’t care he was the messiah round our house.. when our dad were out. and just lately even when he’s in.

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/hero/