Football Poets

New season.

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 New season
Familiar songs
Different days
Billiard top green
Surfaces
Thick, horizontal
Lines and
Symmetrical hopes
And dreams
Freshly painted terraces
Turnstiles oiled
No longer rusty or careworn
Forlorn remnants of last season’s
Headlines and back page glorification
Today, this weekend
The klaxon call to arms
Ammunition primed and ready
At Arsenal
City, just synchronised
As usual for a record breaking
Fifth successive Premier League
Land of paradise
Even now in the middle of August
It just feels like the beginning
Of spring
It feels as though Manchester City
Have no time frame or
Specific moment
But the leading contenders
At the top are sure
To be breathing fire
Down the necks
Of the bourgeois elite
Liverpool will take their slot
In the top six
Under Arne’s Anfield army
The Kop will gather
In their plush all seated pomp
Rather than swaying and surging
Like the Albert Dock in full flow
With only a whispering murmur
From Shanks, Bob Paisley
And Joe Fagan
From the inner sanctum
Of the Boot Rooms
Of the past
It’s the start of another
Nine month marathon
Where points will be shared
In the intimate gatherings
Of the Vitality Stadium
Where Bournemouth will no
Longer be punching above their weight
And the Premier League newcomers
Who are the Tractor Boys
Of Ipswich will be fondly
Recalling Sir Bobby and Sir Alf
Coaching geniuses
Undoubtedly so
One a League Championship winner
And the other FA Cup winners
In 1978 and Osbourne
Never looked back in anger
And then the Saints
Southampton back among
The holier than thou
St Mary’s will be
Bulging at the seams
Ready to acclaim
A modern day Terry Paine,
Mickey Channon, Phil Bowyer,
KK, Kevin Keegan and dear
Bobby Stokes, oh dearly beloved
Lawrie at the helm
Always calm, no sweat
Guardsman, ramrod straight
But this season
The Premier League promises
A contest of thrills
Spills, the mysterious
VAR with its mystical aura
The goals that should have been
But never were
The ones that took centuries
To decide but then
Needed the services of another
TV screen
Just in case the vision
Was blurred
And incurred the wrath
Of the home faithful,
Football no longer
The province of certainty
And immediacy
Just lost in a raging whirlwind
Of penalties given
Because the ball hit the back
Of elbows or
The edge of finger nails
It’s the Premier League
Season, yet again
Blow that whistle
It’s good to be back

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