Just Call Me Bert

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Sometimes I dream I’m a famous attacker,
With my surname emblazoned on banners,
And I turn on a sixpence and fire home a cracker,
And the partisan crowd go bananas.
But I don’t do a cartwheel or run round the ground,
I don’t whip my shirt off and twirl it around,
Nor slide on my knees till they’re suitably browned,
For I’d have such old-fashioned manners.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Such posturing nonsense, I’d treat with disdain,
For it borders on arrogant vanity.
Unlike other strikers, I’d always refrain
From such public displays of profanity.
If I notched a great goal, I’d trot back to the ranks,
Foregoing all puerile and immature pranks.
I’d nod to my team-mates, conveying my thanks,
By way of a courteous humanity.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 If I worked as a butcher, and cut a nice joint
Would I tear round the shop with impunity?
If I emptied a bin, would my boss see the point
Of me leaping around the community?
If I welded a pipe, would I jiggle my knees?
Would I dance like a clown if I cured some disease?
Would I court the applause if I shelled fifty peas,
Enhancing professional disunity?

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Breaking the net’s what I do for a living –
I don’t need a standing ovation.
It’s surely enough the supporters are giving
Me quite undeserved adulation.
So don’t jump on my back if I bury a beauty,
Or yell in my ear with your language so fruity,
For isn’t it clear, I’m just doing my duty?
No need for such wild celebration.

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/just-call-me-bert/