Football Poets

October 2005 Poems

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Derry City 2 Shels 1

¶ 2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Delaney’s punch came back amid
The home support’s excited din.
Back and forth, the football slid,
Till up stepped Derry’s sub, O’Flynn.

¶ 3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 And with that last-gasp winner slid
Our chance to keep that piece of tin.
It scuppered our UEFA bid,
And handed them a vital win.

¶ 4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 And though we moaned at what Fate did,
We took it squarely on the chin.
The last nail of the coffin lid
Quite resolutely hammered in.

¶ 5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 All Alone in Third Place

¶ 6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 This island is peaceful and tranquil,
Though financially quite unsustainable.
Ahead the oft-glimpsed river bank will
Remain for this year unattainable.

¶ 7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 Behind us the throng gaze dejected
Upon the cool, fast-moving water.
Their crossing attempt was rejected,
Though once, the wide gulf seemed much shorter.

¶ 8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 Ahead, where the Promised Land beckoned,
Two tribes head away in the distance.
One will win, with the other one second,
But they’ve both showed determined persistence.

¶ 9 Leave a comment on verse 9 0 So we’re sitting alone in tranquillity,
As the river flows silent and wide,
Unsure if we have the ability
To ever attain the far side.

¶ 10 Leave a comment on verse 10 0 Tombstone Blues
(adapted from the Bob Dylan classic)

¶ 11 Leave a comment on verse 11 0 Stephen gives his interviews, the clichés drop like wine.
When asked for his predictions, he’s afraid he must decline.
The smile that plays around his lips must be the only sign
That he feels he is quite close to glory.
And Rico’s off his deathbed and he’s frisky as a lamb,
His adjectives fly upwards like a parrot from Siam,
The barstool punters fill their pints and do not give a damn
For they don’t know the cast or the story.

¶ 12 Leave a comment on verse 12 0 And Momma’s in the fact’ry, she says it’s a ruse,
Daddy looks up Aertel for the latest news,
I’m in the kitchen with the Tombstone Blues.

¶ 13 Leave a comment on verse 13 0 The Marquis of Plenty, he’s travelled further east,
Hoping that he will not find a famine, but a feast,
The invoice for confectionery has markedly increased,
But so have their chances of survival.
At Dalymount, a whimper has replaced the famous roar,
They privately admit that they had erred a year before,
And now they sit and hope a knight will gallop to the fore,
And they swallow and await his arrival.

¶ 14 Leave a comment on verse 14 0 And Momma’s in the fact’ry and she smells of booze,
Daddy sports a quite metaphorical bruise.
I’m in the kitchen with the Third Place Blues.

¶ 15 Leave a comment on verse 15 0 The residents of Inchicore just cannot understand
Why the path to their redemption had been built on shifting sand.
The brave new world they forecast didn’t go the way they planned,
And they can’t find their way through the bushes.
Meanwhile in the Midlands, there remains a song unsung,
The ladder to the pinnacle is short a wooden rung.
Impatience simmers softly, but the chef just bites his tongue,
And demands that he’s told what the rush is.

¶ 16 Leave a comment on verse 16 0 And Momma’s in the fact’ry giving interviews,
Daddy scans the paper for a foreign cruise,
I’m in the kitchen with the Intertoto Blues.

¶ 17 Leave a comment on verse 17 0 Old Father Experience surveys his court in Bray,
Pragmatism is the word, I think I heard him say,
Disciples listen at his feet and silently obey
Commands he reluctantly utters.
The Wand’ring Desperados cling on tight to memories
Even when the Hand of Fate has brought them to their knees,
But still they will not bare their breast to death by slow decrees,
While Roddy, the butterfly, flutters.

¶ 18 Leave a comment on verse 18 0 And Momma’s in the fact’ry, she’s addressing the queues,
Daddy’s in the alleyway, consulting his Muse,
I’m in the kitchen with the Last Gasp Blues.

¶ 19 Leave a comment on verse 19 0 The College boys are working hard, they burn the midnight oil,
What they lack in muscle is replaced by honest toil,
Hoping that resources won’t conspire again to spoil
Their hopes for a smooth graduation.
In Donegal, they’re swimming to the safety of the lamp
That blazes in the darkness to identify the camp,
But legs are threshed in frenzy as they feel a touch of cramp,
And their hearts are gripped by trepidation.

¶ 20 Leave a comment on verse 20 0 And Momma’s in the fact’ry, being forced to choose,
Daddy’s in the shopping mall, polishing shoes,
I’m in the kitchen with the Also Ran Blues.

¶ 21 Leave a comment on verse 21 0 Captain Doolin curses as his vessel runs aground.
The channel to prosperity is nowhere to be found.
He gazes at the shallows where a thousand men have drowned,
And his crew all respond to his orders.
From Monaghan to Galway and way down in Coleman Park,
They cower at the thunderstorm that makes the black dog bark.
It’s cold there in the basement and they fumble in the dark,
And yell, “Man, too long you’ve ignored us!”

¶ 22 Leave a comment on verse 22 0 And Momma’s in the fact’ry with the late-shift crews,
Daddy’s at the crossroads and he cannot choose,
I’m in the kitchen with the Mirage Blues.

¶ 23 Leave a comment on verse 23 0 The specialists from Genesis crow loud upon the hill,
They tell us that the Eircom League is terminally ill.
They sip their dry Martinis and present their massive bill
To the suits who inhabit high places.
Solutions to our problems flow like glaciated honey,
The move to summer football doesn’t mean that things are sunny,
Rather unsurprisingly, it all comes down to money,
And guess who is holding the aces?

¶ 24 Leave a comment on verse 24 0 And Momma’s in the fact’ry on a shortened fuse,
Daddy’s in the chapel and he’s paying his dues,
But I’m in the kitchen with the Tombstone Blues.

¶ 25 Leave a comment on verse 25 0 Cyprus 0 Ireland 1

¶ 26 Leave a comment on verse 26 0 Robbie Keane’s stretch, and Elliott’s swivel,
Followed by eighty five minutes of drivel.
And but for some quite inspirational keeping,
The country would be uncontrollably weeping.
The magnificent Cypriots, hardly world-beaters,
Were very unfortunate not to defeat us.
They tore us wide open and carved out great chances,
And led our defenders some merry old dances,
While we were unable to find any rhythm
And didn’t seem able to trade tackles with ‘em.
Our midfield was guileless and showed no invention,
And seemed to be focussed on damage prevention.
So many times we conceded possession,
We started suspecting divine intercession.
Tactically weak, we seemed badly outnumbered,
Letting the Cypriots break unencumbered.
But Fortune smiled on us, and flattered us greatly,
Which, to be frank, hasn’t happened much lately.
And though we were still outmanoeuvred concisely,
Same again Wednesday will do very nicely.

¶ 27 Leave a comment on verse 27 0 The Colleges of Ireland

¶ 28 Leave a comment on verse 28 0 The Colleges of Ireland got together,
And organised a football competition.
And soon the sound of football boot on leather
Heralded this worthwhile coalition.
The proceeds of this tourney went to charity
To try to help curtail the flu pandemic.
And though the students cheered with regularity,
The result, of course, was purely academic.

¶ 29 Leave a comment on verse 29 0 From Dalymount Park to Tolka

¶ 30 Leave a comment on verse 30 0 Tolka Park’s resurgent style
Lies at a distance of a mile,

¶ 31 Leave a comment on verse 31 0 As the Crowe flies.

¶ 32 Leave a comment on verse 32 0 Dunphy, Giles and Brady
(These three football ‘experts’ appear to have an influence on International team affairs way above their so-called impartial ‘expertise’ – “The problem with journalists is that they have a theory and then look for facts to fit the theory, rather than the other way around” – Dunphy the player in “Only a Game?”)

¶ 33 Leave a comment on verse 33 0 Beware the three wise monkeys
On the television panel,
Attention-grabbing flunkeys
Who dish out the well-worn flannel.
They wallow in hyperbole
For reasons dark and shady,
Both orally and verbally,
Thay’s Dunphy, Giles and Brady.

¶ 34 Leave a comment on verse 34 0 No-one may contradict them,
They’re the experts in their trade.
The moguls who have picked them
Have no cause to be dismayed.
They vent their righteous fury
Like a scorned and jealous lady.
Hangman, judge and jury –
That is Dunphy, Giles and Brady.

¶ 35 Leave a comment on verse 35 0 Time has changed them greatly,
They are harsh and unforgiving.
They haven’t played much lately,
Just kill chickens for a living.
They mouth the word ‘atrocity’
Like some grotesque Kate Adie,
The masters of pomposity –
That’s Dunphy, Giles and Brady.

¶ 36 Leave a comment on verse 36 0 Three Oul’ Lads
(The aforementioned triumvirate sharpen their daggers)

¶ 37 Leave a comment on verse 37 0 Brian eyed the body and
Wrote down the time they’d found it.
Then, magnifying glass in hand,
He scoured the ground around it.
Hours and hours, on hands and knees,
He searched till he was blue.
Three oul’ lads watched and one said, “Jeez,
He hasn’t got a clue.”

¶ 38 Leave a comment on verse 38 0 Brian checked the headstones but
The grave remained elusive.
He scoured the graveyard, foot by foot,
But that was inconclusive.
He’d come to visit, unprepared,
And could not find the spot.
Three oul’ lads watched, and one declared,
“This guy has lost the plot.”

¶ 39 Leave a comment on verse 39 0 Brian came across some stags –
Alas, the beasts were blind.
He draped them all in Irish flags –
They didn’t seem to mind.
Their blindness did seem quite pronounced,
While wand’ring far and near.
Three oul’ lads watched and one announced
“This man has No-eye deer.”

¶ 40 Leave a comment on verse 40 0 Next Year’s Summer Holidays
(Who wants to go to Germany anyway?)

¶ 41 Leave a comment on verse 41 0 Our World Cup dream has proved to be unfounded,
It’s fallen like a fragile autumn leaf.
The good ship Brian Kerr is truly grounded,
Holed earlier, upon the Israel reef.
The buoyant Swiss did not intend to harm us,
Although they caused this nation untold grief,
For, like the most incompetent of farmers,
The lads again did not produce the beef.
The Swiss rolled into town, with cowbells clanking,
And stole our thunder like a brazen thief.
Hartey’s header promised a good spanking,
But then we seemed to lack some self-belief.
The national press conducted a post-mortem,
And called for abdication of the Chief,
The prospect of a long and gloomy autumn
Does not provide the country with relief.
Our plan of going back to Gelsenkirchen
Was far too unsubstantial and too brief,
So let’s get down to nine months solid workin’
And then take two weeks off –
In Tenerife.

¶ 42 Leave a comment on verse 42 0 A Bad Miss

¶ 43 Leave a comment on verse 43 0 The cross was swung in,
It came arc-ing in sweetly,
He dived like a swallow
And missed it completely.
His graceful manoeuvre
Unluckily sent ‘im
Smack into the post
Through his powerful momentum.
Despatched to his God
In the great Hereafter,
While up in the stands,
We all creased up with laughter.

¶ 44 Leave a comment on verse 44 0 It Ain’t You Brian
(once again, apologies to Bob Dylan. Feel free to use any of my stuff, Bob)

¶ 45 Leave a comment on verse 45 0 Go lightly from the ledge, Brian,
Jump at your own chosen speed.
No time to fudge and hedge, Brian,
You’re not the one they need.
They say they’re looking for a man
To play a blinding game,
Someone who’ll do whate’er he can
To bring this county fame,
Someone to qualify and more,
But it ain’t you, Brian,
No, no, no,
It ain’t you, Brian,
It ain’t you they’re looking for, Brian.

¶ 46 Leave a comment on verse 46 0 The World Cup dream is gone, Brian,
You’ve left us as fourth seeds.
The new sun has not shone, Brian,
In thought or words or deeds.
They say they’re looking for a man
To mould a brand new team
Someone who’ll do whate’er he can
To bring us home the dream.
Someone who’ll make us regularly score,
But it ain’t you, Brian,
No, no, no,
It ain’t you, Brian,
It ain’t you they’re looking for, Brian.

¶ 47 Leave a comment on verse 47 0 Keep Your Eye on the Ball

¶ 48 Leave a comment on verse 48 0 If the ball flies o’er your head
In the stands, in the stands,
Just beware the groping spread
Of those reaching, wayward hands.
You must watch the ball with dread,
With a staring, constant frown
Or it will smack you in the head
Coming down, coming down.

¶ 49 Leave a comment on verse 49 0 An Outstanding Contribution

¶ 50 Leave a comment on verse 50 0 John Delaney’s a man of great elocution,
Though others might call it great guff.
Though it’s obvious, Brian, your “outstanding contribution,”
Just wasn’t outstanding enough.

¶ 51 Leave a comment on verse 51 0 Twinkle Twinkle Stephen Carr
(Purely a personal point ov view, but I believe turning your back on your country at 29 years of age – a la Dean Kiely – is pretty unimpressive)

¶ 52 Leave a comment on verse 52 0 Twinkle twinkle Stephen Carr,
Now we know just what you are,
Leave the international stage
At twenty nine short years of age,
Twinkle twinkle Stephen Carr,
Greed has just eclipsed your star.

¶ 53 Leave a comment on verse 53 0 Last Minute Goals
(A veritable plethora of last-minute goals at the moment, with both Cork and Derry managing to maintain long unbeaten runs by the skin of their teeth)

¶ 54 Leave a comment on verse 54 0 Oh Lord, won’t you save us from last minute goals,
They turn the most mild-mannered fans into trolls,
One small event turns the world on its head,
Some feel ecstatic, some wish they were dead.

¶ 55 Leave a comment on verse 55 0 Oh Lord, won’t you save us from last minute goals,
Grown men give up football and start playing bowls,
Macedonian nightmare or Spanish delight,
Down in the depths or way up on a height.

¶ 56 Leave a comment on verse 56 0 Oh Lord, won’t you save us from last minute goals,
Hero and villain are two different roles.
The line that divides them’s impossibly thin,
Dreams firmly clasped or despatched to the bin.

¶ 57 Leave a comment on verse 57 0 Oh Lord, won’t you save us from last minute goals,
To gain an advantage we’d sell off our souls.
To suffer reversal is galling indeed,
Thus praying is part of the footballer’s creed.

¶ 58 Leave a comment on verse 58 0 Oh Lord, won’t you save us from last minute goals,
When on the wrong end, there is nothing consoles.
The pain is deep-rooted and claws at your gut,
But oh, when the boot’s on the other team’s foot!

¶ 59 Leave a comment on verse 59 0 John Devine

¶ 60 Leave a comment on verse 60 0 John Devine was a great interceptor,
He could read an opponent’s intention,
And whenever he’d thwart us,
The Arsenal supporters
Would call it Devine intervention.

¶ 61 Leave a comment on verse 61 0 Cork 1 Drogheda 0

¶ 62 Leave a comment on verse 62 0 Dan O’Connor’s first touch left
A lot to be desired.
It couldn’t be described as ‘deft’
And neither as ‘inspired.’
He trapped the ball with all the skill
That goalies cannot master.
And though he tried with all his will,
Cork’s John O’Flynn ran faster.
The ball rebounded off the shin
Of Cork’s prolific striker,
And in the Shed they did begin
To play the balalaika.
That ballcould have gone out of play,
For corner or for throw-in,
But Cork fans blew it on its way,
Demanding that it go in.
Towards the line it seemed to slow
With temperament so fickle,
But, deep breaths held, it chose to go
The distance at a trickle.
Fate says that when your luck is in,
It cannot be negated,
And Cork notched up another win
As Derry watched, deflated.