Last Minute.

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 In a cheap plastic pew
With a right blinding view
We soared at two, two.
Through the ensuing hue
I mouthed toward you,
“What d’yer think? Will we win it?”.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Suddenly, a mere slip of a kid
Cost us seventeen million quid
Stuck his hand in the way
Of a straightforward save
Caused those gathered to bay,
“Oh no…he hasn’t, he’s give it”.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 Home fans wince aghast
Away fans, triumphantly laugh
Savouring that final half minute
After a mere slip of a kid,
Cost seventeen million quid,
Proper went and dropped us, right in it.



Try n stay sage, come what may, and have a good day.

Stood/sat in the midst of football fans, who in the heat of the moment, I’ve noticed, use the most succinct terms (some, not for the faint-hearted) to express themselves, involving very few words. Hence the last line in the second verse. Suffice to say, when it’s all going Pete Tong (wrong) and proper pear-shaped, does a paying (often praying) punter have sufficient time to profusely pontificate what’s occurring in their universe, at that precise moment? I think not.

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/last-minute/