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My Best X1

The Ghost of Christmas Past

Sunday, December 15th, 2002

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 In goal, Peter Shilton, would rarely wilt on
The big occasion, but Tomashevski
Would stop Emile Heskey in his tracks,
As could Bolton’s right back, Tommy Banks,
Whose pebble-dash tackles
Could raise the hackles of any wingback
If they did not get back
After an attack,
And were slack, alack,
Unlike Arsenal’s David Jack,
Who will be played out of position
On the correct supposition
That Jack rhymes with slack,
And, anyway, Jack could track
Forward while Kingsley Black
Covers Jack’s back as Jack’s sack
Fills up with goals
While General de Gaulle’s
Free French Army seeks refuge
From the rain in the stands
While the Free French bands
Salute with a toot
The General’s footballing pose
And his aquiline nose,
As he declaims to the skies
With the rain in his eyes
“Apres Moi, la Deluge”
Which leads inexorably to Scrooge
In midfield, whose subterfuge
Would be a huge centifugal
Force and refuge for any stooge
Mistakenly picked by me,
And of course, Scrooge’s parsimony
With the ball would see us keep possession
No matter what the aggression
Or sense of compression
On the Park,
Which leads to “What Larks
Pip.” (And though there’s many a slip
Twixt FA Cup and lip)
We find Joe Gargery in midfield,
For Joe will never yield
And will be our midfield shield,
And his honest endeavour will forge
Many an opening for Pip to gorge
Himself with goals
While Joe burns holes
In the opposition defence
While Pip never relents
In his upfield migrations
For Pip has Great Expectations
Of success which
Leads us on to Magwitch
As his companion in crime
Upfront. What a Dickens of a time
They will have upfront
In the goalmouth hunt,
So bravissimo,
Our 2 generalissimos,
Will play like a dream,
A well oiled machine,
Like lubricated Meccano,
With Olaudah Equiano,
Who will brave land, sea and wave,
To liberate slaves
Wheresoever we play
At home or away,
While dear Mary Seacole, natch,
Will nurse our strolling players
Through any bad patch,
So that we latch
On to victory,
With the key
To success.
(Though not to excess,
Sometimes we will take pity on the underdog,
And deliberately lose.
We’re that kind of team,
A dream).

© Yuletide Ghost ink

Notes

Substitutes will be Little Nell, Bob Cratchit, Tiny Tim, Miss Havisham and Estelle

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/my-best-x1/