Football Poets

Shels 0 Deportivo 0 Medley

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 A Man for all Seasons

¶ 2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Bertie’s a United fan,
An ardent Keane and Giggsy man.
A team from someone else’s nation
Earns his glowing adulation.

¶ 3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 Bertie is a Celtic fan,
A real Bobo Balde man.
For it is widely understood
That green and white is in his blood.

¶ 4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Bertie’s a Drumcondra fan,
A daycent League of Ireland man,
And though their heyday’s long since passed,
Long does the fiery passion last.

¶ 5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 Bertie is a Shelbourne fan,
A real Nutsy Fenlon man.
Accepting with impunity
Each photo opportunity.

¶ 6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 Bertie is a soccer fan,
Association football man.
Casting a discerning eye
O’er each bandwagon passing by.

¶ 7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 Alan Misses His Moment

¶ 8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 Did no-one say to Alan Moore
That it was time for him to score?
Three late goals so far have it
The Icelanders and Hajduk Split.
But not last night ‘gainst La Coruòa
Although he nearly bagged one sooner.
Perhaps he didn’t realise
That time, when having fun, just flies.
But though he didn’t score tonight,
He’s still a chance to put it right.

¶ 9 Leave a comment on verse 9 0 Willo’s Act of Bravado

¶ 10 Leave a comment on verse 10 0 Twenty five glorious seconds to go,
The ball goes to Willo to break up the flow.
We’ve battled supremely; it seems now as though
The Spaniards can’t deal us a last crushing blow.
Our keeper, however, appears somewhat slow
[Unlike the performance of Shelbourne’s back row]
The attacker is closing, and dread starts to grow.
Why isn’t he booting it out for a throw,
Way up in the stands to the twenty sixth row?
Only Willo and God in his heaven can know.
Here comes the attacker! Will this end in woe?
Thwarted in cruellest terms by our foe,
After such a brave fight against Luque and co?
But Willo’s determined to put on a show,
And dummies the Spaniard with flick of the toe,
And boots it upfield towards Joseph Ndo.

¶ 11 Leave a comment on verse 11 0 And still the incredible candle’s aglow.

¶ 12 Leave a comment on verse 12 0 I Can See Heary Now

¶ 13 Leave a comment on verse 13 0 The Sugarloaf and Hungry Hill
Were lost in mist o’er Bantry Bay.
The summer rain was bouncing still
To shroud the picturesque display,
But in our holiday abode,
All eyes were fixed on Lansdowne Road.

¶ 14 Leave a comment on verse 14 0 And as the gripping match wore on,
And Shelbourne firmly held their own,
A tiny ray of sunlight shone,
And pierced the grey, forbidding stone.
Where it landed, nature glowed,
As we kept eyes on Lansdowne Road.

¶ 15 Leave a comment on verse 15 0 The tiny breach began to grow
Until a pool of blue appeared.
The summer rainfall ceased its flow,
As gradually the dark sky cleared.
And, in a field, a rooster crowed
To mark events at Lansdowne Road.

¶ 16 Leave a comment on verse 16 0 And when the final whistle blew,
The Sugarloaf and Hungry Hill,
Loomed large with features clear and true
That only nature can instil.
And summer sunshine overflowed
As we digested Lansdowne Road.

¶ 17 Leave a comment on verse 17 0 The Song of the Eircom League Fan

¶ 18 Leave a comment on verse 18 0 For all those sniggers, when you told
What football team had your support.
For all those jeering eyeballs rolled
At every Eircom League report.
For all those times when conversation
Turned to Arsenal and United,
Ignoring all the degradation
When your football team was slighted.
For all those times when loud-mouthed men,
Who claim to understand the game,
Scratched away with poisoned pen,
To Ireland’s journalistic shame.
For every word the mockers uttered,
Sneering at your one true passion,
Patronising cliches muttered
That the league was not in fashion.
For all those million football shirts
From every foreign side, it seems,
An industry which badly hurts
Your local Irish football teams.
For all those wet and windy nights
Of visiting your football ground
And cheering underneath the lights
With barely anyone around.

¶ 19 Leave a comment on verse 19 0 For all those years of scoffing bile,
This match made it all worth while.

¶ 20 Leave a comment on verse 20 0 For the Harolds Cross Brigade
[and Ollie in particular]

¶ 21 Leave a comment on verse 21 0 A smallish crowd at Harold’s Cross,
Terrace sprouting tufts of moss,
Performances that failed to woo
More than the dedicated few.
Position in the league quite stable
Near the bottom of the table.
Our periodic chanting drowned
At every Irish football ground,
Neither recognised nor hated,
For we simply were not rated.
So, for the dedicated few,
This really is a dream come true.