Saturday Afternoon Religion

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Blowing warm breath on cold, forgotten fingers,
Mind elsewhere as your burnt-out spirit lingers.
Watching the men as they reach for the sky,
Turning your head as the ball flashes by.
Feeling the pain, jubilation and fear,
Building up tension as they attack from the rear.
Half-hearted cries at long-distant shots,
Is the striker going to score? Shall we draw lots?
Stamping your feet and clapping your hands,
Marching with the rhythm f the terraced band.
Choirs of Grandfathers, fathers, and sons,
Marvel at the skills of the right-backs probing runs.
Sighing with contentment at intricate passes,
Shouting at the referee: “Do you need glasses?”
On a rollercoaster ride of such highs and such lows,
Disappointment or excitement as the full-time whistle blows.
Trooping away with coloured scarves held aloft,
Thinking of the awaiting tankards to be quaffed.
Returning back home with your spirit ever soaring,
How can people say that football is so boring?
Barnaby Jones ex 6th. form.


Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/saturday-afternoon-religion/