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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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Hammers in America

joe morris

Sunday, August 4th, 2024

West Ham now in the
Land of the Free
Where Trump and Biden
Swap elderly status
Hammers in Disneyland
A big kids playground
In fabulous Florida
Trump, still babbling absurdities
Biden, lost in a world of confusion
Oh poor Joe
Meanwhile the claret and blue
Latest edition
Building empires
Tortured at times with
Transfer hearsay
Linked with players
From every continent
Throughout the world
At least a thousand
On the last count
But maybe an exaggeration
Lopetegui, mixing and matching
With new fangled philosophies
Imprinting his mindset
West Ham, learning the ropes
Under radical regimes
Beaten by Palace in
Palatial form
A 3-1 setback for
Those East End entertainers
But still finding their feet
At the court of our Spanish
Toreador, bullish yesterday
But no need to panic
Just yet
More new arrivals
Summerville, the new Rembrandt
On the London Stadium easel
Art and beauty
So hard to find
At the beginning of August
But they’ll get there
Still though, a work in progress
Today Wan Bissaka perhaps
From United’s Theatre of Dreams
Waiting in the wings
The roar of the greasepaint
Aaron awaits the claret and blue
Reception committee
His stage to shine
Much needed defensive strength
And security, locking doors
On creaking hinges
WD 45, just a drop
Of oil needed
For a decent season
Then the great striker conundrum
Fulkrug, German goal machine
But 31, worrying but perhaps
The dream solution
Up front for a Hammers
Hankering desperately after
Another Pop Robson, Tony Cottee
Frank Mcavennie, just to
Keep recent seasons momentum
Alive but now firing
On all cylinders
We must hope
Forget Duran and the reflex
Villa, demanding a kings ransom
So West Ham
Enjoy those roller coaster rides
In the country that gave us
Hollywood glamour and schmaltz
A plethora of pancakes
To sweeten the pill of defeat
Meet and greet Mickey and Donald
But remember where you are
In a fortnight
It’s the late summer virility
Of vivacious Villa
Unai Emery’s Champions League
Bravehearts this season
Opening day jitters
Oh no, not again
What we’d give for that
Rarest of species
A West Ham victory
Just before the first
Conker fall of autumn
If the engine and carburettor
Are working, then who knows?
It could be the season to savour
But how often have we said that?
A brand new Stratford project
We can but hope.

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The Magic Sponge

Alex Saynor

Friday, August 2nd, 2024

Through rain drifting across floodlight beams
and smoke off the hotdog hut
from a corner by the Thames

you can see through black metal railings
through the smog and instant snap of fag ash
a distant heap slumped on the floor.

Who is it? Please not Houghton or Davies.
A medical phenomenon, our hopes to resurrect –
for all its flaws and holes in the argument –

is the dank and rebounding beige air brick
with dabs of refreshment,
placebo brushes of renewal

like a non-consensual splash on the bonce
at the font to appease an unknown devil or god.

If you break your metatarsal
or have a problem metaphysical,
here’s a dab of water to the arm or head.

Rainwater runs off
through all the drainage infrastructure
or cascades from an outflow pipe
and freezes in the night.

You’re winded, distended, bloated,
fractured, strained or just not right.

Something snapped; was it a twinge,
a strain, a pull or phantom twang,

but through the rain and smoke and mist on all sides
as from a dry ice machine evacuating all
at the start of a meeting where dry ice was on,
but really not needed, no matter the break

or convalescent years ahead,
what you need in the moment is a dab on the head.

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Walking Through Woods To A Game

Crispin Thomas

Friday, August 2nd, 2024

whose woods these are I do not know
but to a hilltop ground they go
and as we climb in Summer heat
this well trod path beneath our feet
will lead us high above the town
and carry us both up and down
through air so humid thick and still
as we rise further up the hill
I stop for breath above the stream
as fans pass by from either team

this ancient wood is steep and green
the most unuusal way I’ve seen
no other route to watch a game
will somehow ever feel the same
my cheeks are red my climbing slow
as Andrew cries “not far to go”
when suddenly the trees are passed
and here’s a level road at last
and through a clearing we have found
this tiny hilltop football ground

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You can hear and see the new season

joe morris

Wednesday, July 31st, 2024

Far beyond the distant horizon
Where churning oceans meet
Auspicious dawns of the
New football season
Hark we hear thundering boots
With purple or yellow laces
Oh, surely a figment of the imagination
City, Arsenal, United, Spurs,
Chelsea quite possibly
Liverpool never knowingly underestimated
Heating up late summer barbecues
Of early August meaty contests
At the moment, a sweltering heatwave
May yet reach boiling point
When the Premier League fires up
Its seasonal crackling flames
Of end to end penalty area boxes
Of tricks and flicks,
Low blocks and presses
Playing from the back
And delivering stacks of goals
Yet more contentious VAR,
The proverbial pain in the neck
Scrap it now before
Gary, Alan, Danny and co.
Burst blood vessels
They can take no more
We’ll always have Match of the Day
Whatever the final score
And so the new Premier League season
Is upon us, summer
Tans now ancient history
On players faces of pristine hope
We hope you’re ready
For the mighty and dominant
Household names
To prove their worth
On the birth of August
Where everybody starts on
A clean slate,
Egalitarianism rules OK.
We’re all on a level playing
Ground, no points on
The board and all in hot
Pursuit of flying starts
It’s three points for some
And none for the rest
But the Premier League season
Will probably have nobody
At the top of the pile
Come the end of the first weekend
Since football opens up
A fresh page with a brand new
Chapter of errors
Defensive blunders
Stunning goals,
Near misses and gasps of delight
The rich tapestry of life
Takes pride of place
In the art galleries
Of the rich and pampered
The new boys and those
Simply aspirational
Let the fun begin
Premier League football
We can hardly wait

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Help!!

Mike Bartram

Monday, July 29th, 2024

Each day there is something new to learn.
When I hear of a brand new football term!
Is a ‘false number 9’ a number 9 or not?
That’s something I need to ask Arne Slot!

‘Seriously, I just don’t understand that role.
Is Nunez expected to miss every open goal!
What’s a ‘double pivot’ I haven’t got a clue?
If Trent’s ‘inverted’ what’s he now got to do?

Does ‘Heavy Metal’ footy, require long hair?
So will Arne Slot be given a wig to wear?
Another thing I hear now on The Spion Kop.
‘Up front’ is very outdated… it’s now ‘up top’!

Sorry, what does a ‘holding midfielder’ hold?
I bet you can tell by this, that I’m getting old!
Yes I am, and I suppose I’m stuck in my ways.
Because football was simpler in the old days!

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Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/page/5/