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Squeaky Bum Time

Denys E. W. Jones

Sunday, January 31st, 2021

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Scored after five minutes.
Defending since then.
Star striker got sent off.
We’re down to ten men.
Eighty-eight minutes gone.
Two minutes to go.
But them hundred-twenty seconds,
Man, don’t they go so slow!

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 We’re into Squeaky Bum Time,
Every fan knows what I mean.
Those last heart-stopping minutes
Are your worst, baddest dream.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 You sit biting your nails.
You’re shuffling your rear.
You despair of your hope.
You’re afraid of your fear.
Not much you can do,
Except maybe yell:
“Ref, blow, blow that whistle,
Cos it feels like I’m in Hell!”

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Ninety minutes expired.
Says so on the clock.
But Ref adds four more,
To make up for the stops.
That’s more agony piled on,
Yet more squeaking to do.
The pain that you’re enduring
Moves up a notch or two.

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 They call it Squeaky Bum Time,
Know of anything worse?
Feels like you’ve been blighted
By some wicked witch’s curse.

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 You’ve run out of beer.
No fags left to smoke.
You despair of your fear.
You’re afraid of your hope.
There’s nowt you can do,
Except perhaps cry:
“Ref, blow, blow that whistle,
Cos I’m fixin’ to die!”

7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 Ref’s blown final whistle.
Vital win is chalked up.
Three points in the Table.
Let the champagne corks pop.
The nightmare is over,
And you’re off the rack.
No more Squeaky Bum Time,
Until the next match…

8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 29/1/21
Denys E. W. Jones

Notes

Wiktionary credits Sir Alex Ferguson with coining the term Squeaky Bum Time.

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Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/squeaky-bum-time-2/