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Sunday League

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 The east wind is keener
than I am
on a Sunday morning
at 10.30 am
The players warm up
With a cigarette
And a cough
They glare at each other
Then they kick off
Lots of charging and barging
The ref gives no fouls
Ignores the appeals
The screams and the howls
He has to blow his whistle
He can’t stand the pace
He takes the chance to wipe the smiles
From the fastest players face
Sends one off, then two
To get the game as he intends
It’s easier to keep up
As the nine men team defends
After ninety minutes it’s over
Even subs begin to sink
The result is so important
The losers buy the drink

1

Notes

There’s a lot of heart and passion out there in the local parks, where real football is still played.

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/sunday-league/