“Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne’er succeed.”
And more than most we Blues have learned
Exactly what that means.
For when it comes to derbies,
We rarely come up trumps,
The Reds are usually cock-a-hoop,
While we’re down in the dumps.
Once more we’re singing Bluenose Blues,
Red flags are flying high.
The Reds are down the pub with Klopp,
All we can do is cry.
We had a win at Goodison
Around two thousand ten.
Last time we won across the Park?
I can’t remember when.
Yet crumbs of comfort can be found
In this hour of sore need.
The day’s not too far off, we feel,
When we’ll at last succeed.
With Ancelotti at the helm,
A wind of change is blowing.
The seas are rough, the going’s tough –
We’re tough, and we’ll get going.
And soon, before too long, we trust,
We’ll hit a winning streak.
And then to us who ne’er succeed,
Boy, won’t success taste sweet?
Denys E. W. Jones
Liverpool 2-0 Sheffield United
Van Dijk goes diagonal, Baldock slips
Robertson’s left foot swish
We’re ahead after four minutes
With a steady Mo Salah finish
Alisson to Robertson, zips to Mane
The pass to Salah in the D is pure
Sprinting behind to accept the return
Henderson saves but Mane makes sure
A record for everyday Sadio
He’s a goal for each and every day
Minamino is now in the house
To boost Jurgen Klopp’s cabaret
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In Middlesbrough town
Max points bagged
Thanks to Spence, Djed Spence
Is licenced to score
Our Mairead don’t like The Arse
To say she hates them would be…harsh
While David Luiz bears brunt of her dislike
Took it right personally I‘m told?
Him racing down The Caledonian Road
En route to transfer talks at The Emptiness on his bike?
Cut off her Pre-Raphaelite Irish dancing hair
Dropped learning Portuguese in sheer despair
As the once iconic blue boy turned his back and walked away
From her beloved Stamford Bridge
Where she idolised him like a teeny bopping kid
Despite our Mairead being sixty-five come next birthday.
“Kev, him signing for them is a bleating pain?
He could have easily gone to France, or Spain
Anyone but them bleating Gooners would be okay”,
“Mairead, try to be realistic me old mate
Him being well past his sell by date
Means we’ve more than a chance of a double home/away”.
Over at The Emptiness, in North London yesterday
During a first half break, in a period of highly competitive play
A red shirted Brazilian spotted a familiar face in the away end looking glum,
“Mairead, ain’t seen you for ages, how yer doing babe, what’s the score?”,
A quip, a neatly coiffured Barnet of West London deemed her duty to ignore…
“Let that bleating Judas have his bit o fun…I’ve laid a long un on us bating them two one”.
Barnet…Fare. Rhyming Slang for hair.
A long un. One hundred of.
Liverpool 1-0 Wolves
It was Lallana’s collar bone
Cue mayhem in the Red zone
Mane slots past Patricio
Until VAR halts the flow
Goal stands the replay showed
Mok and Mosh rock the Anfield Road
Neto and Wolves have one ruled out
Jonny with the offside flout
Wolves contingent not amused
For Ref Taylor theirs resounding boos
This decades come full circle again
Since Roy Hodgson in 2010
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Leicester 0-4 Liverpool
Could’ve been two in the first minute
Then Firmino caught them cold
Dropping the ball on a sixpence
Was Trent Alexander-Arnold
Counter attack and a penalty
Soyuncu’s arm from a corner
First touch coming on as a sub
Cool as you like James Milner
Bobby’s second, Liverpool’s third
As the brilliant Reds run amok
Trent gets the goal he deserves
With a fourth so sweetly struck
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Tall and elegant of posture
With a warm, endearing smile
He’d materialize into the box
In his own enduring style
Everywhere he went
As Hammer, Spur, Canary
He was every fan’s favourite
Ghosting past the unwary
Sir Alf famously quoted
“He’s Ten years ahead of his time”
And in 1966
We gloriously caught him in his prime
And so we remember with fondness
As we sadly chant his name
Condolences to his family
For a true Gentleman of the Game
Straight up I expected to be behind
When I pressed Red Button on T.V
Of late our defence, not to be unkind
Seems as resolute as a sieve.
Listening to JJ in the Five Live studio
Passing comment on the game
I caught a vocal South West London braggadocio
Prevalent in the back-ground, down at White Hart Lane.
What with wrapping presents
Cleaning the oven, and brewing pots o tea
I didn’t catch the gist of JJ’s comments
On the incidents he could see.
Seeing we were two nil up
I composed a flippant text
Texted it to all me pals and those I Love
In the short verse coming next…
Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle all the way
Oh what fun, it is to win two nil at Spurs away.
Then…the malignant cancer in modern day society,
and I don’t give a toss for what the politicians say?
Quite rightly became the main talking point of football on T.V
During Sunday evenings Match of The Day.
Mishi was a one-off a real true fan
leaves a huge gap where he always used to stand
held his club like a jewel in his hand
followed them the way few could ever understand
poured out his feelings at the game and in his lines
lovingly reflecting all the good and bad times
alway down to earth never looking for signs
passion and conviction it always just shines
one thing to say and loads don’t know it
but Mishi used to post here as ‘Dulwich Poet’
Mishi was a character and not afraid to show it
stuck by his club when it looked like they’d blow it
I never ever met him I’ll regret it to the end
but I’m proud to remember him and call him a friend
poems and emails the times we used to spend
talking ’bout football ’til it drove us round the bend
Mishi used to struggle with the digital age
still loved scribbling down words on the page
some call it anger some call it rage
but football love is the hardest one to guage
rave on Mishi you’re one of a kind
gave it all you had ev’ry second you coud find
wherever I go I doubt if I’ll find
a more loyal fan in space or in time
(NB This poem is by ‘Dulwich Poet’ (Mishi Dulwich Hamlet)
People say if they cut me
I’d bleed Pink and Blue
I hate to disappoint
But it simply ain’t true.
I’m as ordinary as everyone else
My claret’s old fashioned red
I think it will just break my heart more
If my Football Club ends up dead.
Everything I’ve ever done
All I ever do
My beloved Dulwich Hamlet
I do it all for you.
Champion Hill’s what defines me
It’s my spiritual home
If we go out of existence
I’ll never be so alone.
Greedy property developers
Throwing their toys out the pram
One hundred & twenty five years of history
They don’t give a damn.
I’m so scared of the future
For both my Club and me
Just sell up Meadow Residential
That is my heartfelt plea.
In my 44 years of supporting
It’s been mostly seasons of hurt
But that’s no reason to treat us
Like a proverbial piece of dirt.
‘Pa’ Wilson began it all
Way back in 1893
From his little acorn
Grew the greatest oak tree.
Four times Amateur Cup winners
Best non-league ground in the land
How on earth did it come to this
From our own ground banned?
The last ten years have been special
Best crowds for fifty years
We really have built up too much
For it all to end in tears.
Exiled to our ‘enemies’
Tooting & Mitcham now our ‘home’
But I will follow us anywhere
No matter where we roam.
Like a dog is not just for Christmas
A football club’s for life
It’s just than in my case
It’s also my surrogate wife!
Last year we almost got to Wembley
Two rounds from the arch
Now we’re in intensive care
Fighting death with a rally and march.
No matter what happens
I’ve got to hide my hate
And if the worst comes to the worst
Know that I stepped up to the plate.
I don’t care what standard
Where we are or Step Five
Constantly praying to my God Edgar Kail
Please keep Dulwich Hamlet alive.