Hanging out of yer trousers
Kit bag screaming Tesco out loud
Yer hardship and fear
Both inspiring the doubters
To sneer with contempt at yer crowd.
Hung on a nail in some shed
Scuffed Provident shoes on the floor*
You and the lads
Geed up, confident, ready
To get out there, and fight for the poor.
Boots that yer ma
Sweated buckets for
Twenty-nine shillings plus shorts
A black polo necked sweater
The local cubs wore
Made you a Lev Yashin of sorts.
Sly digs in the ribcage
When no one was looking
During fraught frantic stages of action
That day when a wily over aged
Ringer, lost teeth and a filling**
As yer full back exerted extraction.
Clearing that scorcher
Yer conscience had told yer crashed in
A put upon referee
Surrounded by kids, and teachers stood calling:
“Referee. Are there rules against our school team scoring?”.
The last grasp victories
Landing the spoils
Walking that way winners walk
Or dispatching to history
Those last minute errors
Left you gutted, you struggled to talk.
The winning and losing
Up highs and low downs
Three cheers for the other school side
Counting the bruises
Light blue turning brown
Resisting the hurting to cry.
Sat back in the shed
Yer knees bloody
Torn to shreds on a pink cinders pitch
While upstairs in yer head
You were loving
Every minute, of bliss, like remembering this!