Shut Up Dad Yer Spoiling Our Game!

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 It was one of those days
When…no matter who played
Each chance they created flew in
Youth team coach stood there beaming
Seemed like he woz dreaming
As his young charges fell in to sync.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 When the fourth one flew in
Concealing a grin
He decided enough was enough.
So he warmed up two subs
As three dads from the pub
A tad worse for wear sauntered up.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 “Getting beaten four nought
Who would have thought
A kid of mine would be losing like that?”
Bawled one of the dads
As his sucked on a can
And bleary-eyed took in the match.

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 “Oi you get stuck in!”
He screamed at his kid
Who had gently passed back to a mate?
The kid kinda shrugged
As these three dads from the pub
Thought extracting the Michael was ace.

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 As the interval came
In a one sided game
The drunkards poured back to their car
Ashamed of their kids
Sank a few more cold tins
Then carried on heckling throughout second half.

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 The leading sides sponge man
Looked feeble so one dad
Decided that he would be next
For some verbal abuse
So a mouth spouting booze
Gave it to him full on in the neck.

7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 When the end was in sight
And the score at nought five
A loose ball got lumped off the pitch
The sponge-man like lightning
With control that was frightening
Hit a volley in to mega mouths midriff.

8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 With their spokesman bedecked
An end to the heckling
Came as that last whistle blew.
As the two teams shook hands
Three staggering dads
Silently slunk from the field.

9 Leave a comment on verse 9 0 Whilst their charges were changing
Two coaches were exchanging
Their views on great skill of the sponge-man
And the beautiful volley
Which had ended the folly
Of mega mouth and his drunken gang.

10 Leave a comment on verse 10 0 “That’s a hell of a shot
Your sponge-man has got
And such power, he hit that drunk hard”
“Yeah and during the week
He drives a dumper truck, which he’s
Just run over that drunken bloke’s car”!



This poem is based on what might have been; if I could hit a peach of a volley like Igor Belanov (my favourite World Cup goal) and was deemed able to drive a dumper truck!

Whilst watching my son playing football and cheering for both teams one Sunday morning, a bunch of drunken fathers came staggering up to cheer on the home team and followed me up and down the touch-line clearly trying to get me at it and looking for trouble.

I carried on with my cheering and support, much to their annoyance and they soon got fed up with it and went off back to the pub, but it could so easily have gone boss-eyed.

The other teams coach was clearly embarrassed, as were his young charges in the team, three of which were the offspring of the drunks.

I’m always of the opinion that fathers who were never any good at football as kids, for some strange reason can tell all and sundry (or all on a Sunday), how the game should be played as they stand there in their track suits and trainers along the toucline barking out the orders!



Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/shut-up-dad-yer-spoiling-our-game/