Football Poets

Letter to Vincent Browne

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Vincent,
I’m quite unimpressed,
And must get something off my chest.
Normally I don’t complain,
When hearing views I find inane.
Differing opinions thrive
And make discussions come alive.
And I, for one, would never boast
That I am more au fait than most,
For those opinions I possess
Are always subject to redress.

¶ 2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 However, I’ve a bone to pick
And aim to give a bit of stick.
Your programme’s never been afraid
To call a spade just that – a spade.
Procrastination’s for the birds
And so I will not mince my words.

¶ 3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 Padraic Lodge came on to talk
Of Bohs and their defeat of Cork,
But all that you desired to do
Was learn of your beloved Man Yew.
“The bloody League of Ireland” was
The very phrase you used, because
You only want to hear of goals
By Giggs or Butt or Keane or Scholes,
And probably you’re too fatigued
To sit there and be Eircom Leagued,
Whose players you don’t know at all
And don’t know how to kick a ball.

¶ 4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Now Vincent, on the radio,
There is a tuning dial, you know.
And it doesn’t take much drudgery
To change from you to BBC,
A station which, you must agree,
Is at the top professionally.
The interviewers are so charming,
Sometimes meek, yet oft disarming,
Humour sparkles, thought prevails,
When each and every guest exhales,
Production values at the pinnacle
(Yes, they are! Please don’t be cynical)

¶ 5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 So why, you ask with crafty smile,
Am I so loathe to turn that dial?
There’s programmes there of great renown,
Instead of dear old Vincent Browne,
And surely it would be a breeze
To point my aerial overseas?

¶ 6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 As Hamlet said, “Ah, there’s the rub.”
For here, at last, we reach the nub.
For I don’t need to get a fix
Of foreign countries’ politics.
How does it concern me whether
Blair and Brown can work together?
And Mandelsson is more a jewel
Than Seamus Brennan or McDowell,
But a herd of raging elephants
Has much the same irrelevance.

¶ 7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 And football is a sport best seen
Not on some television screen,
But seated high up in the stands
With waving flags and clapping hands.
A game viewed in the cold and wet
Is worth a dozen on the set,
For telly never has come near
To reproducing atmosphere.
So, the League of Ireland serves a need
And has a relevance indeed,
While Philip Neville, I’m afraid,
(Although he’s very highly paid,
And might well be a superstar)
Is a dish viewed mainly from afar.

¶ 8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 Yours,

¶ 9 Leave a comment on verse 9 0 Peter Goulding

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