1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Hatters of Stockport
descending deeper into the mire
with every passing day.
Like a man in quicksand,
who struggles to keep
his head above water,
but who sinks lower and lower.
And I’ll tell you what: it stinks.
No crumbs of comfort from
the rich man’s table;
no olive branches extended
to rescue the drowning man
from near neighbours in Manchester,
either at old money United
or the nouveau riche at City.
Now the man in quicksand
has sharks to contend with,
circling sharks who could
attack at any time,
biting deep to cut off the
blood supply;
to end over one hundred
years of history.



Things are looking bleak for Stockport County. Somebody must step in to save them – quickly.

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/quicksand/