Football Poets

November 2005 Poems

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Funny Old Game
(Cork have an end of season wobble)

¶ 2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Cork City, high atop the table,
Playing well, extremely able,
Scoring goals to beat the band
Throughout this green and pleasant land,
Played a poor St. Pat’s Athletic,
Whose recent form has been pathetic,
Who cannot score to save their lives,
Where gloom and disenchantment thrives.
With Cork at home in Turner’s Cross
And striving for a win with gloss,
And Pats reduced to ten, then nine,
It seemed quite in the grand design
That Pats should saunter up the hill
And win the game by one to nil.
“A funny old game,” said Jimmy Greaves,
Which everybody now believes,
Except perhaps down by the Lee,
Where football lacks hilarity.

¶ 3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 Derry for the League, Cork for the Cup
(…means Shels play in the UEFA Cup next season, rather than the Intertoto)

¶ 4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Derry to go and win the League
And Cork to win the Cup.
That’s the only sequence which
Is going to cheer us up.
The only permutation that
Will drive away fatigue
Is if Cork go on and win the Cup
And Derry take the League.

¶ 5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 Derry to go and win the League
And Cork to win the Cup.
A different combination and
We’ll all be sold a pup.
The orchestra is practising
A symphony by Grieg,
With Cork about to take the Cup
And Derry take the League.

¶ 6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 No Glimmer
(No, we’ve definitely no chance)

¶ 7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 I refuse to be drawn by a glimmer of hope,
I’ve marked out a line in the sand.
The carrot is there at the end of the rope,
But it moves when I stretch out my hand.

¶ 8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 Each time that we win, there is talk of a chink,
For the door is not totally shut.
But it’ slammed from within every time that we think
That we’ve space to wedge in a large foot.

¶ 9 Leave a comment on verse 9 0 Better than Winning the League

¶ 10 Leave a comment on verse 10 0 In Waterford town, it is carnival time,
The party shows no sign of ceasing.
The music beats loud and the church bells all chime,
And the song and the laughter’s increasing.

¶ 11 Leave a comment on verse 11 0 It’s hard to believe they’re not far from the drop,
Still battling hard for survival,
But why should they care if they’ve managed to stop
The charge of their bitterest rival?

¶ 12 Leave a comment on verse 12 0 Two points dropped by Cork with just three games to go,
Two points which could well turn out vital,
For Waterford’s joy is a Cork hammer blow
In their quest for the long hoped-for title.

¶ 13 Leave a comment on verse 13 0 And deep underground, eating burgers and chips,
Sits a large Machiavellian figure.
And slowly a smile plays about his thin lips
As his menacing shadow grows bigger.

¶ 14 Leave a comment on verse 14 0 Ten from Eleven
(Thirty points from thirty-three, and we’re still third!)

¶ 15 Leave a comment on verse 15 0 Ten wins from eleven games
Should underline one’s title claims.
In any other season, we’d
Have shot away at breakneck speed,
Or climbed some places up the table.
But this time, our position’s stable.
Despite this run, we’re still in third,
But soldier on quite undeterred.
Our title hopes are up in flames
Despite ten wins from eleven games.

¶ 16 Leave a comment on verse 16 0 Ten wins from eleven matches,
Though we only played in patches,
Was really quite a decent run,
With Jayo scoring goals for fun.
But Cork and Derry both deserve
Great credit for their steely nerve.
Sometimes when you are out on top,
You tend to let your standards drop.
Usually reward attaches
To ten wins from eleven matches.

¶ 17 Leave a comment on verse 17 0 Thirty points from thirty three
Should really make the doubters flee.
We never gained a single place
Nor challenged in the title race.
For this year, time is out of joint,
And watch where all the fingers point,
Despite our tally latterly
Of thirty points from thirty three.

¶ 18 Leave a comment on verse 18 0 Déja Vû?

¶ 19 Leave a comment on verse 19 0 Oh Rico, is it slipping through your fingers?
Can you hear the ringing of the bells?
The smell of second-place so sadly lingers,
The way it did when you were here at Shels.

¶ 20 Leave a comment on verse 20 0 The Nearly Man of football, they have called you.
Oh, what is it your crystal ball foretells?
Has this little wobble not appalled you,
The way it did when you were here at Shels?

¶ 21 Leave a comment on verse 21 0 Your football teams have always been commended.
You understand attractive football sells.
But careful, lest your season be up-ended,
The way it was when you were here at Shels.

¶ 22 Leave a comment on verse 22 0 The Rebel fans won’t tolerate disaster,
Ask Gunther what a narrow failure spells!
You cannot set your broken dreams in plaster,
As you recall, when you were here with Shels.

¶ 23 Leave a comment on verse 23 0 And now, the end is near

¶ 24 Leave a comment on verse 24 0 It’s not been the greatest of seasons,
Our progress has gone in reverse,
But whatever the causes and reasons,
It’s often been very much worse.

¶ 25 Leave a comment on verse 25 0 Third in the League is still decent,
Though in general, that’s not been perceived.
Of seasons gone by, the most recent
Was the best that we’d ever achieved.

¶ 26 Leave a comment on verse 26 0 There’s many a younger supporter
Who’s spoiled by our yearly success.
In panic, he thinks that we oughta
Act quickly to stave off distress.

¶ 27 Leave a comment on verse 27 0 But those of us who still remember
Embarrassing days at the Cross,
Are happy enough this November,
Although we have had the odd loss.

¶ 28 Leave a comment on verse 28 0 There’s many a team who’d swap places,
Despite “only” finishing third.
We’re run on a very good basis,
And success has been merely deferred.

¶ 29 Leave a comment on verse 29 0 Shed a Tear

¶ 30 Leave a comment on verse 30 0 I met an old man down in Ballyphehane,
As I strolled down the South Douglas Road.
He was sixty, I guess, and he seemed in distress,
And so I instinctively slowed.
“You all right?” I enquired, “for you seem somewhat tired,
And your eyes are all bloodshot and red.”
“Things is bad,” he replied, and with heavy heart sighed,
“I think I might take to me bed,
Biy,
For they’re going to knock down the Shed.”

¶ 31 Leave a comment on verse 31 0 “Up beyond in the Cross?” I said, quite at a loss,
“But why would they do such a thing?
It’s a wonderful sight on a cold Friday night,
When the faithful in unison sing.
Where the banter is witty and never shows pity,
And where lifelong supporters are bred,
Where, in search of a win, they can suck the ball in –
Sure, I cannot believe what you’ve said,
Biy,
That they’re going to knock down the Shed.”

¶ 32 Leave a comment on verse 32 0 “’Tis a very bad job,” he replied with a sob,
“But the mem’ries will never grow murky,
Like when young Johnny Glynn notched a very late win
To deliver a plum tie in Turkey.
Where we stood in the cold, clapping heroes of old,
Till the palms of our frozen hands bled,
And you know the sheer noise of those proud Rebel boys
Filled most visiting teams with pure dread,
Biy,
So why would they knock down the Shed?”

¶ 33 Leave a comment on verse 33 0 “I have no idea,” I intoned, as a tear
Etched a miserable streak down my face.
Oh God, in it’s prime, we’d a marvellous time,
‘Twas a holy and magical place.
Alan Gough, I recall, turned his back on the ball,
And on over to us he did head,
And joined in the chanting and solemn incanting,
So what will they put in its stead,
Biy,
If they’re going to knock down the Shed?”

¶ 34 Leave a comment on verse 34 0 He suddenly frowned and spat hard on the ground.
“Big boxes!” he yelled, with defiance.
“For fellers in suits with no footballing roots
To impress all their corporate clients.
You won’t hear a roar from the Shed any more,
Though you might see a very nice spread.
You’ll hear clinking of glasses, and kissing of asses,
But the atmosphere will be quite dead,
Biy,
When they finally knock down the Shed.”

¶ 35 Leave a comment on verse 35 0 As I bade him goodbye, with a deep, mournful sigh,
I felt a cold shiver run through me.
Another day nearer the end of an era,
No wonder the future seemed gloomy.
Economics hold sway in New Ireland today,
And beware the financiers tread!
But I can’t hide my grief and my earnest belief
That the good times have packed up and fled,
Biy,
With the fat cats about to get fed,
Biy,
Camaraderie hangs by a thread,
Biy,
For they’re going
to knock down
the Shed.

¶ 36 Leave a comment on verse 36 0 Kidnapped
(Somebody stole Damien Richardson’s hat down in Waterford!)

¶ 37 Leave a comment on verse 37 0 Security at airports has been stepped up,
With wary eyes cast over pregnant mums,
And members of the cabinet are kept up
With all the information as it comes.

¶ 38 Leave a comment on verse 38 0 The country is a hive of paranoia,
Descending into deep untrusting hell.
This sickening event could well destroy a
Way of life that we have loved so well.

¶ 39 Leave a comment on verse 39 0 For no, it was no terrorist attacker
Operating from a basement flat.
Oh no, ‘twas just myself and my mate Macker,
Who bravely went and kidnapped Rico’s hat.

¶ 40 Leave a comment on verse 40 0 We know full well our actions must have hurt you
(The hat, I can assure you, is unharmed.)
But patience is a very flighty virtue,
And Macker’s getting itchy (and he’s armed.)

¶ 41 Leave a comment on verse 41 0 We’ve given you a good few hours to ponder
The ransom note we posted yesterday.
Absence must be making your heart fonder,
And I’m sure the hat is feeling the same way.

¶ 42 Leave a comment on verse 42 0 Do not play the scheming Rebel chancer.
There’s no way you can thwart this fiendish plot.
Hurry up and let us hear your answer –
Are you going to throw the game or not?

¶ 43 Leave a comment on verse 43 0 We cannot bear the thought of Cork prevailing,
To maybe win the League in Tolka Park.
The prospect of it sends poor Macker quailing,
And makes my mind grow venomous and dark.

¶ 44 Leave a comment on verse 44 0 So Rico, you can snatch it versus Derry,
Without resorting to a Tolka win.
We’re sure that you will do what’s necessary.
The hat is getting very pale and thin.

¶ 45 Leave a comment on verse 45 0 In View of the Continuing Silence

¶ 46 Leave a comment on verse 46 0 In view of the continuing silence,
I’ve ripped off a piece of its lining.
I hate to resort to such violence,
But its constantly whinging and whining.

¶ 47 Leave a comment on verse 47 0 The hat is now visibly shaken,
You can’t get much sense now from him,
And Macker has recently taken
To cutting off chunks of the brim.

¶ 48 Leave a comment on verse 48 0 He’s purchased a surgical laser,
A wrench and a screwdriver too,
And he’s dancing around with a razor
Singing “Stuck in the Middle with You.”

¶ 49 Leave a comment on verse 49 0 The screams from the hat are distressing,
It’s breaking my poor heart to hear it.
In fact I regard it a blessing
That Rico ain’t anywhere near it.

¶ 50 Leave a comment on verse 50 0 This hat, once so fine and so handsome,
Is now feeling battered and sore,
So why not accept this small ransom,
And come up and play for a draw?

¶ 51 Leave a comment on verse 51 0 A Tragic Martyr?

¶ 52 Leave a comment on verse 52 0 Macker’s just informed me that
Martyrs, baby, are old hat.
But this disgusting little chap
Is quite a feather in our cap.
Oh yes, he soon will face perdition,
A helpless victim of hat-trition.
His end will be uniquely crude,
Due to your selfish hat-titude,
Condemned to a quite gruesome fate,
Because you won’t cap-itulate.
So say farewell, he’ll shortly fly
To that great hatstand in the sky.

¶ 53 Leave a comment on verse 53 0 All Around My Hat

¶ 54 Leave a comment on verse 54 0 Once he was a skinny runt,
Possessed of insubstantial front,
So very weedy-looking that
Somebody even stole his hat,
And it was even commonplace
To get some sand kicked in his face.

¶ 55 Leave a comment on verse 55 0 And thus he went down to the gym,
Where body builders worked on him.
Twice a day he pumped the weights,
And checked his metabolic rates,
Got dizzy doing circuit training,
But did it all without complaining.

¶ 56 Leave a comment on verse 56 0 And thus, before too very long,
He grew extremely big and strong,
Bulging biceps, slender tones,
Sinews stretching over bones,
Until he was completely fat-less,
When they nicknamed him Charles Hatless.

¶ 57 Leave a comment on verse 57 0 The Vacant Ireland Manager’s Job
(for vacant Ireland managers)

¶ 58 Leave a comment on verse 58 0 There hasn’t been a wealth of applications,
No lines of people queuing for the post.
So many men have valid reservations,
Pretending they are otherwise engrossed.

¶ 59 Leave a comment on verse 59 0 The usual names have all been widely bandied,
Like Venables, O’Leary and O’Neill.
But each has left the FAI quite stranded,
Declining to shake hands upon a deal.

¶ 60 Leave a comment on verse 60 0 No longer are we first or second seeded,
In fact, we’re down to third, or even fourth.
A strong man at the helm is what is needed,
Or else we’re going to struggle like the North.

¶ 61 Leave a comment on verse 61 0 Everybody’s turning a cold shoulder,
The barge poles surfaced after the first minute.
The FAI’s compiling a big folder,
But currently there’s only one name in it.

¶ 62 Leave a comment on verse 62 0 So come on, all you managers and coaches,
Ensure the FAI don’t draw a blank.
Accept if someone makes the right approaches,
Or else they’re going to give the job to Frank. *

¶ 63 Leave a comment on verse 63 0 *Stapleton.

¶ 64 Leave a comment on verse 64 0 The Valu of a Gud Edukashun
(Brian Kerr is given an honorary degree by DCU)

¶ 65 Leave a comment on verse 65 0 When I was a child,
I was feisty and wild,
At times somewhat out of control.
The time spent rebelling
And shouting and yelling
Fatigued my inquisitive soul.
In school I was ‘poor’
And ‘Could well achieve more,’
But though teachers might try to cajole,
My short-sighted reliance
On open defiance,
In truth, took a very great toll.

¶ 66 Leave a comment on verse 66 0 They warned me, of course,
After trying brute force,
That life, I would find, was no stroll.
And refusing to study
Like some goodie-goodie,
Was neither too bright nor too droll.
I’d end up, they said,
With no springs in my bed,
And no sugar to put in my bowl,
And because I’d no job,
I’d be short the few bob
To buy luxury items like coal.

¶ 67 Leave a comment on verse 67 0 Well I paid no attention,
Spent years in detention,
And eventually ran from that hole.
And I’ve worked all my life,
And I found a good wife,
And I now play a fatherly role.
And Brian Kerr is conferred
With degrees, so I’ve heard,
And he smilingly clutches his scroll,
But academic esteem
Isn’t all it might seem,
For he still stands in line for the dole.

¶ 68 Leave a comment on verse 68 0 The Ballad of Roy and Alex

¶ 69 Leave a comment on verse 69 0 It began with a glance
At a Nottingham dance,
With Roy in the first flush of youth.
He was wanton and wild,
A free-spirited child,
So simple and raw and uncouth.
As he twirled up and down
In his burgundy gown,
He captured a poor Scotsman’s heart.
And when Alex proposed,
It was widely supposed
That the two of them never would part.

¶ 70 Leave a comment on verse 70 0 And they danced arm in arm,
By the light of the moon,
Both humming the same merry tune.

¶ 71 Leave a comment on verse 71 0 One swarthy, one supple,
They made a fine couple,
And the good times were quick to arrive.
Under Alex’s gaze,
Roy was showered with praise,
For his energy levels and drive.
But the instant acclaim
And the newly-found fame
Didn’t make much impression on Roy,
And the man from the Gorbals
Made sure silver baubles
Were showered on the young Mayfield boy.

¶ 72 Leave a comment on verse 72 0 And they danced cheek to cheek,
By the light of the moon,
Both humming the same merry tune.

¶ 73 Leave a comment on verse 73 0 “You look gorgeous tonight,”
Said Sir Alex, not quite
Paraphrasing the great Eric Clapton.
And down on one knee,
He said, “Roy, can’t you see?
I am asking that you be my captain.”
Poor Roy, caught off guard,
Swallowed deep, swallowed hard,
And his face went a deep shade of red.
Then through tears of great joy,
Came the answer from Roy,
“Oh gaffer, I’d love to,” he said.

¶ 74 Leave a comment on verse 74 0 And they danced face to face,
By the light of the moon,
Both humming the same merry tune.

¶ 75 Leave a comment on verse 75 0 Roy left for a while,
For a far-eastern isle
To prepare for a very fine party,
But he came home in tears
With abuse in ears,
Falling foul of a man named McCarthy.
But Sir Alex was there
With great comfort and care,
And his shoulder was tender and broad.
Then they talked through the issue,
Alex gave him a tissue,
And service once more was restored.

¶ 76 Leave a comment on verse 76 0 And they danced hand in hand,
By the light of the moon,
Both humming the same merry tune.

¶ 77 Leave a comment on verse 77 0 But time marches on,
And where once Roy’s star shone,
Mow others were vying for glory.
And Sir Alex’s eye
Did get turned by and by
In this once-inspirational story.
Within Roy, the fire,
Once a crackling pyre,
Was reduced to a small glowing ember,
Alex’s heart had been captured, bedazzled, enraptured,
By somebody called Djemba-Djemba.

¶ 78 Leave a comment on verse 78 0 And they danced by themselves,
By the light of the moon,
Both humming a different tune.

¶ 79 Leave a comment on verse 79 0 Then one day, it’s said,
Things did come to a head,
The marriage had run it’s long course.
There were harsh words indeed
But both parties agreed
To a quick and a final divorce.
The parting was sudden,
The faces were wooden,
Though deep down inside, they were aching.
For when love goes askew
There’s not much you can do,
When your heart is so publicly breaking.

¶ 80 Leave a comment on verse 80 0 And they danced one more time,
In the cold light of day,
Then both turned and walked slowly away.

¶ 81 Leave a comment on verse 81 0 The Complete Professional?

¶ 82 Leave a comment on verse 82 0 Is it professional to quarrel in pubs,
To spend all your free time in boozers and clubs?
While Beckham spent hours taking frees on his own,
Others, quite nameless, were alcohol-prone.

¶ 83 Leave a comment on verse 83 0 Is it professional to have such impatience
You’re shown the red card on eleven occasions?
When the team needs a leader, you’re up in the stands
With the sick and the injured, just wringing your hands.

¶ 84 Leave a comment on verse 84 0 Is it professional to break someone’s leg
Because they once tried to take you down a peg?
To practically end their career at a stroke,
Then gloat in your book at this wonderful joke?

¶ 85 Leave a comment on verse 85 0 Is it professional to run to the press
Whenever you think that the team’s in a mess?
On the eve of the World Cup, to lambast the coach
In public, is not the professional approach.

¶ 86 Leave a comment on verse 86 0 Is it professional to slag off your team?
It’s a very bad way to be letting off steam.
If you’ve passion at heart and a fire in your belly,
Then give them a rocket, but not on the telly.

¶ 87 Leave a comment on verse 87 0 Is it professional to leave in a huff
When somebody tells you you’re not good enough?
Or do you work harder and knuckle down more
And prove you’re the man that you had been before?

¶ 88 Leave a comment on verse 88 0 Isn’t It Ironic?

¶ 89 Leave a comment on verse 89 0 On the day when news came
That an overpaid whinge-bag
Had played his last game

¶ 90 Leave a comment on verse 90 0 For a crap British team,
That Irishmen bafflingly
Hold in esteem,

¶ 91 Leave a comment on verse 91 0 When the airwaves were filled
As if somebody famous
Had just been found killed,

¶ 92 Leave a comment on verse 92 0 When the whole world stopped spinning,
And a Sunderland manager
Couldn’t stop grinning,

¶ 93 Leave a comment on verse 93 0 When a tired old pro
Was told he was now just
Too old and too slow,

¶ 94 Leave a comment on verse 94 0 When opinions abounded,
Most far off the mark
And completely unfounded,

¶ 95 Leave a comment on verse 95 0 On that very same day,
Cork took the League
In a masterful way,

¶ 96 Leave a comment on verse 96 0 Their first win in ages,
But Cork’s finest son
Drove them off the back pages.

¶ 97 Leave a comment on verse 97 0 The timing was chronic,
And, Ms. Morrisette,
Completely ironic.

¶ 98 Leave a comment on verse 98 0 Well Done Cork

¶ 99 Leave a comment on verse 99 0 I’m trying so hard to be gracious,
As I praise Cork’s success most profusely,
But I know I am being mendacious,
And using the truth very loosely.

¶ 100 Leave a comment on verse 100 0 To be fair, I’m not much of an actor,
The smile on my face lacks great feeling.
Pure jealousy may be a factor,
But I’m used to the art of concealing.

¶ 101 Leave a comment on verse 101 0 My hypocrisy is quite amazing,
I’m surprised at this barefaced deception.
How little I mean all this praising
Can barely approach one’s conception.

¶ 102 Leave a comment on verse 102 0 In genuine Irish tradition,
I begrudge Cork their glowing success.
In my heart beats a rage of attrition
That my face simply fails to address.

¶ 103 Leave a comment on verse 103 0 I appear such a very good loser,
Which I’m sure, makes a decent impression.
But now I’ll head down to the boozer,
For Lord knows, I’m in need of a session.

¶ 104 Leave a comment on verse 104 0 Silver Polish

¶ 105 Leave a comment on verse 105 0 Silver Polish isn’t that expensive,
And not as hard to find as it may seem.
Dunnes’s range is really quite extensive
And gives that trophy such a sparkling gleam.

¶ 106 Leave a comment on verse 106 0 Don’t lash it on – you should be fairly sparing,
We wish you well with all this Mister Sheening.
Let us know exactly how you’re faring,
We know that you’re unused to trophy cleaning.

¶ 107 Leave a comment on verse 107 0 Congratulations on your hard-won mission,
But please don’t fill that Cup with too much beer,
Please hand it back in much the same condition,
When Shels win back the bloody thing next year.

¶ 108 Leave a comment on verse 108 0 The Season’s Over

¶ 109 Leave a comment on verse 109 0 Eventually the pitch lies bare,
The players all departed.
A silence hangs upon the air,
Morose and heavy-hearted.
The floodlights cast their mocking glare
Upon the luscious clover,
But all I do is stand and stare
Because the season’s over.

¶ 110 Leave a comment on verse 110 0 The fans all file out of the ground,
Deflated and dejected.
The crackling tannoy makes no sound,
Now mute and disaffected.
The Champions have now been crowned,
Give praise unto Jehovah.
But no, my sorrows aren’t yet drowned,
Because the season’s over.

¶ 111 Leave a comment on verse 111 0 Eight exciting months have passed,
As always, much too quickly.
And winter’s thorns come thick and fast,
So menacing and prickly.
The League arrived with massive blast,
Like some great supernova,
But now I stand and stare, aghast,
Because the season’s over.