Leave a comment on verse 1 0
League within a league, the same four suspects,
You know who they are – only too well. Same
Names, same cities. Ignore the rest, as the gap
Gets wider and wider every passing season. TV
Money makes it so, creates a cartel, a monopoly
On trophies that denies all others. A closed shop.
Leave a comment on verse 2 0
Great for their fans, I’m sure. Guaranteed glory,
Guaranteed honours every year. And still some
Of them grumble. But they’ll never have to fight
Relegation, or wallow in mid-table mediocrity.
Only four places they ever fill, woe betide any
Club that tries to undermine their cosy stitch-up.
Leave a comment on verse 3 0
Real competition eliminated, just share round
The positions year on year. Burnley, Ipswich,
Forest, Derby, Wolves – all won the league in
Days long gone, when the playing field was at
Least a little more level. Impossible now. And
They thrash about in the Championship, hoping.
Leave a comment on verse 4 0
So what for the future? Absolute boredom as
MOTD comes on – the favourites take priority
Every week. Red, White and Blue the colours
We see before us; a numbing regularity. And
Doesn’t just familiarity breed pure contempt..
Shake it up, make it a sport again. Or else, die..