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My Big Comeback!

Mike Bartram

Tuesday, August 20th, 2024

This was to be my comeback stage.
Playing once more at my advanced age.
This big match took place in my head.
It was a dream last night I had in bed!

I came on as sub to ‘change the game’.
To live up to my old ‘hot shot’ nickname!
I had opponents worried from the start.
When they saw me clutching my heart!

But it was a false alarm so I carried on.
Sadly, even in my dreams my pace had gone!
So much for my new replacement knee.
And without my specs, I could hardly see!

I didn’t touch the ball in my cameo role.
No raids down the wing…no sight of goal!
I couldn’t leave the ground to nod the ball.
Because my lift off engines chose to stall!

This wasn’t the footy dream I had in mind.
A ticking clock, I was hoping to rewind!
Also, I noticed a strange lingo players spoke.
Words like ‘pivot’s I heard before I awoke!

This new terminology was a bit of a shock.
Apparently we faced some kind of ‘low block’
What all this meant, I had to hazard a guess.
And in my day, I was never instructed to ‘press’.

But, my memories remain, press clips and so.
Of how it used to be, all those years ago!
A few hat tricks and the odd ‘5 star’ display.
In those good old days, when I used to play!

The morale of this story, my sad dream and tale.
Is that dreams mean nothing, if in them you fail!
And that real comeback, that I planned in head.
Well that idea, I have put well and truly to bed!

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Football Eh?

Phil Brennan

Tuesday, August 20th, 2024

Football’s back, the crowd’s go wild,
brand new kit for every child,
the beautiful game is back in play,
where players strut and display,
their outlandish haircuts, bold and bright,
a fashion statement, it’s quite a sight.
Tattoos inked with reckless glee,
players pose because they’re on TV,
offside flags go up and down,
strikers’ smiles turn to a frown.
Yellow cards are flying high,
Red cards wave as players cry.
Referee squints at the big, bright screen,
is it a goal, or just a dream?
A goal’s been scored, the fans all shout,
but wait, hang on, VAR’s ruled it out.
Top of the league, the fans all sing,
the manager’s hailed as the king,
but when they’re bottom, he is hated,
sacked in the morning, see you later!
A few weeks in, it’s like it’s never been away,
only another nine months to go,
Football, eh?

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New season.

joe morris

Saturday, August 17th, 2024

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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Ten to Three (Darlo at Home)

Rowan Waller

Saturday, August 17th, 2024

So, the season’s started ‘alright’…
Marine gave us a fright,
but a goal mouth scramble
right at the death
and Bradley Stretton
made it right.

It’s a point on the board!

“But it should’a been more,”
matey-boy says,
and others agree,
over pre-match pints
and a burger and fries,
beating the queue,
at the hatch at the Farm.
Chewing the cud
and sharing news –
plenty more home shirts,
white and blue;
just minutes to go…

For Darlo at home.

Darlington; Darlo;
known as ‘The Quakers’;
traveling down to the Mini-Makers
and bringing a crowd –
who are already singing,
already loud –
seeking a point (or three)
of their own
for the board;
they’re up for it, boys,
that’s for sure…

“2-0 Darlo written all over it,”
matey-boy says; but few agree.
Nip for a pint.
It’s ten to three…

#rowanthepoem

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Crucial Stops at Critical Times

Alex Saynor

Monday, August 12th, 2024

After all that transpired: injuries, bereavements, heartaches,
relegation to No.3 before a transfer back to Cardiff Met:
crucial stops at critical times.

After everything you didn’t plan –
the sun behind a cloud over Mumbles,
the re-take when you stepped off your line:
crucial stops at critical times.

After everything you thought was right –
research on penalty takers in the whole League of Wales,
a cancelled engagement with the Gowerton guy:
crucial stops at critical times.

After all you never thought would happen:
a narrow win at Caerphilly Castle,
Briton Ferry for the soul’s dark night:
crucial stops at critical times.

After everything that wasn’t good enough:
the diet they said you over-carbed
with extra beer though you hadn’t won.
But now the final’s here and what do we find?
Crucial stops at critical times.

After all that happened in lockdown:
the virus and its lingering insidious effects,
with all the Dunkin’ Donuts trainers said
would dull your edge, but now you’re one ahead –
with an engraving primed –
making crucial stops at critical times.

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Back For The Start

Crispin Thomas

Sunday, August 11th, 2024

far from the finished article but back for the start
still reeling from two relegation seasons
we board the coach with renewed hope

Ewan who I’ve never met before
shows me images from away games
and we talk music
the feeling here is… just don’t lose

sunny fields stream by and we’re there
‘The Rec’ is vey much that – deceptive from the outside
a wreck of a once beautiful old school ground inside
behind The old stand we are alongside
crumbling terracing and ageing toilets
meet long abandoned turnstiles

we’ve brought a healthy turn-out
the South Stand lads are here in force
and here’s Joanna and Martin from Ipswich
home fans are friendly too as we mingle

the game itself a mad and hectic
ragged blur of early mistakes
and oh dear we’re two down
embarrassment is partially avoided
with a late first half goal
and suddenly from nowhere
were 3-2 up as the second unfolds

a late unguarded cut-back
levels it for the Shots
could’ve have won it – could have lost it
I would have definitely taken a draw
and that’s how it ends

There are long roads ahead
and much to improve ahead
I don’t get to many aways
but this had made me keen for more…
onward

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Away Day Poem

Richard Williams

Saturday, August 10th, 2024

Dawn isn’t even a hint in the sky,
yet it’s time to get up before it’s too late,
fling on some gear and head out the door,
to a coach or the car or a lift with a mate.
Today’s an away day and we’re on our way.

The road ahead yawning out in the dark,
as carriageway lights strobe back to our pasts,
all those other games in our talk and recall,
how many hours left till our score is cast?
Today’s an away day and we’re on our way.

Motorway service stations stopping for a bite,
clock our support’s faces amongst the throng,
the new fans, the occasionals, the never missed a game,
a nod a few words then we must move on.
Today’s an away day and we’re on our way.

And all the other teams as we pass them by,
different shirts different colours, scarves different stripes,
traversing the country whatever the league,
this is regular football, not premier hype.
Today’s an away day and we’re on our way.

Destination signs counting down the last miles,
park up get out and follow the flow,
a pint in a pub or a burger from a van,
the line ups are out to the stadium we’ll go.
Today’s an away day and we’re on our way.

Patted down by security while waiting in line,
The turnstiles are open and it’s time to pass through,
to this home from our home in a once hostile zone.
We’re living this moment, inhaling the view.
Today’s an away day and we’re on our way.

The players run out to a throat-clearing roar,
for this is our calling our shirt and our team,
the coin toss is made, the whistle is blown,
and this is what life is, our theatre, our dreams,
and every away day is a day to believe.

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Que Sera Sera

Denys E. W. Jones

Friday, August 9th, 2024

When I was just a little boy,
I asked my mother who I’d support.
Would it be Villa, Leeds or Man U?
Here is her proud retort:

“Que sera sera,
Whatever will be will be.
You’re gonna be a Toffee,
Que sera sera.”

Still I had not made up my mind,
I asked my father who I’d root for.
Would it be Chelsea, Spurs or West Ham?
He let me know the score:

“Que sera sera,
Whatever will be will be.
It won’t be no Cockney team,
Que sera sera.”

But I was still not quite convinced,
I asked my brother for more advice.
How about That Lot across The Park?
Their Strip looks really nice.

“OMG, MG,
Don’t follow that Red-Shirt team.
They wouldn’t be right for thee,
Them nor Bill Shankly.”

Then at that point, said to myself,
“Ma, Pa and Bro, they all agree.
So it looks like I have no choice,
A Toff I’ll have to be.

Que sera sera,
Whatever will be will be.
A Bluenose too I shall be,
Que sera sera…”

Lots of time now has passed since then,
Next year I shall be sixty-three.
And I’m still here, at this ripe age,
Chanting COYB.

Que sera sera,
Whatever will be will be.
A Toffee I’ll always be,
Que sera sera.

9/8/24
Denys E. W. Jones

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It was 5O years ago

joe morris

Friday, August 9th, 2024

It was 50 years ago tomorrow
A half century ago
How time flies
On the wings of the old Wembley
Where Billy Bremner and Kevin Keegan
Donned welterweight gloves
And yet they were
Far from the stereotype
Of flying wingers
Nothing could have been further
From the truth
More explosive fireworks
Than old football chums
From way back when
It was the Charity Shield
Or perhaps the combustible Shield
Little in the way of
Generous hearts
Or even a whisper of benevolence
More like scrapping children
With scruffy shirts
School ties like bandanas
Snotty faced nine year old
Rascals and scoundrels
Who should have known better
But none of us really cared
Since charity
We volunteered and
Kindly donated
To our Oxfam friends
So back in 1974
Leeds and Liverpool
Pennine neighbours
But childish altercations
On the day
Handbags and flailing fists
It was 1-1
But this one was far from
Amiable, this one meant war
Tackles were flying in like
Spitfires from a military sky
Bremner, all Scottish
Grudges to settle
Fired up and ready to
Launch haymakers and upper cuts
And hooks of seething savagery
To Keegan, a pocket battleship
Ready to wear his heart on his sleeve
On the verge of England recognition
Power and lethal finishing touches
Goals like water from
A gushing reservoir
The man who became a Liverpool legend
Before Germany and Hamburg came
Calling louder and louder
Suddenly, Bremner and Keegan
Locked in a vice of hatred
And roaring recrimination
Come on Billy, Kevin
Let’s settle this one
Behind the bike sheds
No charity in the Charity Shield
That belongs at home
But 50 years later
It’s the Community Shield
Now that has a far homely ring
This one belongs
To your village post office
The church bazaar
The local supermarket on the
Corner of your road
Your pub games of
General knowledge quizzes
Shove ha’penny and dominoes
In snug corners
Money raised for your
Neighbourhood hospital
Or Victorian school
Marathons on behalf of
Those less fortunate
Yes, the Community Shield
The connotations are similar
And the sentiments are much the same
But don’t mention the
Charity Shield to Liverpool’s KK
Because he’ll just whip
Off that unforgettable red shirt
From the land of Scouse matiness
And storm back to the tunnel
Off you go Kevin
But fear not since
It was just the Charity Shield
The curtain raiser to
Another season
But those fleeting fisticuffs
With Billy Bremner
Freckles on late summer chest
Wild as Bill Hickock
The gun slinger from Elland Road
No malice or harm intended
Of course not
But burning rage
Flaring from smoking ears
As the bell went for
The end of round one
Nobody wins
On Sunday though
Manchester giants
City and United
Gathering their
Derby needle
Animosity unconfined
Tomorrow it’s the
Community Shield
It’s just for fun
Remember
It’s a reminder
Of Premier League
Autumnal beginnings
Before August
Becomes next May
And winners are
Declared
On that far off day

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Play Up Sky Blues

kevin halls

Thursday, August 8th, 2024

Well it’s almost upon us
a new football season near,
some fans are pessimistic
others full of good cheer.
Myself I’m feeling positive
then again I always do,
putting trust in the team
who play in sky blue.
I like our new signings
money spent wisely and well,
will they get us promotion ?
only time will tell.
The Championship is a marathon
a long and very tough campaign,
starting off in warm sunshine
then spells of cold, wind, and rain.
But us hard bitten fans we love it
wouldn’t have it any other way,
but wish games would all kick off
at 3 o’clock on a Saturday.
So come on Coventry City
and play up Sky Blues,
and while we all sing together
we will never lose !

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Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/page/4/