1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 No batteries, no switch
Just add imagination
Plastic players, cloth pitch
Spread on the floor like a picnic
Sport for all –
Goalie sellotaped together
No head on number eight
Number four in crunchy bits
Heavy footed father came in late
We visualised the conditions
Pretending we were playing in fog
The referee was flicked into touch
And eaten by the dog
Stuck on crowd cut from magazines
No chance of playing rough
Flick to kick the winning goal
Brought down by a piece of fluff



Forget ‘Football Manager 2005’.
Subbuteo is where it’s at.

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