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We’ve all watched such names in the warm up
Who rarely break sweat when they’re asked?
Command a king’s ransom for odd games in the cup,
A rarely seen player, stroke idol come star.
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Against lower league rivals they’ll thrive to impress
So a move or a pay-rise ensues
Whilst a post match lauding in the foot-balling press
Warns our gaffer: Exclude him next week and you’ll lose.
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Yet come Saturday they’re suited in allocated seats
Where the seldom asked, sit earphones on
Working on mobiles or that evenings tweets,
Maybe going for a popular song? (Sic).
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Our scoring or winning means nothing
They’ll sit coldly detached from the play
Yet the camera’s on them inspires something
So they rise from their seats arms a flailing.
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In smiling team photo’s they beam radiant health
Suntanned and wallowing in fame
Well versed in the knack of amassing great wealth
Via a whole different kind of a ball game.
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Contracts mean nothing to the likes of such names
Who frustrate us so much that it hurts?
Yet come January’s window, we’ll greet more of the same
Parasites, wearing our treasured shirts?