One Day In Life

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 “What date is it?”
inquired my four year old son
“Sunday 19th August, 2001” I replied
“That’s a very old day!”
“Yes, I guess it’s the oldest one yet”, I marveled at his insight
“Today is going to die!”
(he equates old with dying)
And off he scampered with his pretend weapon, to put the day to the sword
A happy son
And tired, yet contented, father
Middle son, aged three, on my knee, helping me through the weekend treat
Of a breakfast, consisting of croissants and donuts
Or crusty aunts and jam spillers, as the little lap chancer calls them
Daddy tired, from a combination of a) his own little hat-trick of a boy
Requiring a nappy change in the middle of the night
(He worked like a Trojan, on that particular explosion)
And b) the compulsion, that kept me in front of the tv
Into the wee small hours
To watch the much heralded return of The Premiership
A new season beginning
With ITV winning
The tv rights
To the bright lights
And stupendous sights
Of teams plights
And tackling frights

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Following on from the Stereophonics, imploring us to ‘Have A Nice Day’
The radio bulletin brings us the usual wretched weekend news
More wreckage and carnage on the roads
The errant knight returns, his draggin’ day gallantly slain
He tells us, parrot fashion
That a small baby died yesterday in a car crash
And we impress upon him the importance of wearing our seat belts
He’s quickly learning about the vagaries of life
We want to protect them, so much
But have them respect potential danger, too
Later, we head to mass
Only to find, there’s a hearse outside, a coffin at the altar
(It was just one of those days)
I didn’t know the local man from Adam
(We being blow-ins)
But I still had a lump in my throat
Especially when looking at his relatives : solemnly dressed all in black
There were other black shirts in the congregation :
Old Man Utd away jerseys
There were twins too, in a quest for their own identity
One in white, one in gold, the new reversible shirts
Allowing for diversity in uniformity
But it left me sanctimoniously hankering,
for the days when people made an effort to dress up for mass
Now it’s just the priest and altar helpers, that stick to tradition
A relaxing of standards, has lead to sedition
Then the catechismic colour clash between purple clad priest
And some old Spurs Klinsmann clad clansmen (away)
Gave way
To virginal white
And the fright
Of the sight
Beneath the picture of Jesus and the heart that bleeds
Top Man from Leeds
Now clashing
With the dashing
Cleric, quickly readying himself
From death to new life, in the change of a robe
As people arrive at the church for Christenings
– God’s glorious greeting in the grotto –
My own two week old, too young yet, for such a blessing
He’ll have to wait awhile, for the gift of the grab

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 On venturing outside, into the adjoining grounds, of an ecclesiastical college
A seminal seminary, a font of so much knowledge
With stepping stones dissecting a big water feature
And like a Sky Sports ad, little posts, signing sections, probably erected by a prurient priest
The ‘Font of Life’, the ‘Font of Truth’, the ‘Font of Pain’, the ‘Font of Procreation’
And ‘Paradise’
I sat there reflecting, by the mirror like pond
Should I not be genuflecting, before my team, (who later despond)
One all home to Newcastle

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 I recall Shank’s famous quote
“Football’s not about life and death, it’s more important than that”

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 And it clashes in the cranium, with the incantation
“Christ has died
Christ is risen
Christ will come again”

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 Producing the mantra :
Last season’s over
This season opens to a fanfare
Some of us already reduced to saying : “there’s always next year”

7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 The rest of the day passed by, like a typical Sunday
A traipse around the shops, a first trip for our newborn
Cuddled up and clinging to my tummy, in a sling
Much to the amusement of our resident jester
“Daddy, you look like a kangaroo!”
But I felt more like an elephant, when testing out some sofabed’s
And struggling to get up, harnessed, by bellicose babe upon belly –
How do the ladies hack it, for nine months, a whole football season!

8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 Later on, I tackled a self assembly curtain rail
More DIW than DIY – (do-it-wrong)
Then settled back, pulled myself together, and before long
I was dozily wondering, was it a ‘Beautiful Day’, or do you too, prefer
The old anthemic march, of the ‘Match of the Day’ signature tune
Or is it too soon, to choose
And is it right, to so easily lose
A tradition, an icon of our age
How can we assuage, our gall
At all this tinkering, with our beloved football?

9 Leave a comment on verse 9 0 On my way to bed, pondering on the events of the day
As a passionate fan, I could only say
Thank God the footy’s back
But God Bless those that didn’t make it


Original Note :
In the same way that I sometimes question my religious faith
So I sometimes try to put Shanks’s truism into context
And some days I do both!

Updated note :

I started this, on the day in question, then struggled with parts of it (who said all of it?)
I wasn’t going to finish it, until I realised, that the underlying sentiment held true, and was just as pertinent, in the aftermath of the terrible attack on America.

The same church was the venue for a Memorial Mass, 3 days after the attack, which in it’s own mysterious way, brought solace and hope to many of us.

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/one-day-in-life/