Football Poets

The Ballad of Clement Ine

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 What a fullback, what a fullback,
What a fullback, Clement Ine.
Thou art gone and lost forever,
Dreadful sorry, Clement Ine.

¶ 2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 In a team called Lincoln City
Played the fullback, Clement Ine.
He was tough and somewhat gruff and
Liked to play it down the line.

¶ 3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 Opposition wingers loathed him,
Thought he was a dirty swine.
Players were halted and assaulted,
‘Ere he kicked it down the line.

¶ 4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 His right foot was made of iron,
And his left was quite divine,
Quick and skilful, strong and wilful,
Both could boot it down the line.

¶ 5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 Lincoln City got promotion
And Clem’s star began to shine.
Unsurprising it was rising
As he knocked it down the line.

¶ 6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 Came a new coach to the City
And the tactics did refine.
Liked the square ball, not the air ball,
Nor the long ball down the line.

¶ 7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 Clement loathed him with a vengeance,
Called him Giles’s concubine.
Wouldn’t do it, and on cue, it
Went from his foot down the line.

¶ 8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 The coach was vexed, his lips were gushing
Crashing waves of foaming brine,
Substituted the big-booted
Lad who’d played it down the line.

¶ 9 Leave a comment on verse 9 0 Clem reflected, genuflected,
Seeing clear the grand design.
Hailed the crowd and smartly bowed and
Came off, running down the line.

¶ 10 Leave a comment on verse 10 0 “You’ve a choice,” the coach cajoled him,
“Do things your way, do them mine.
The balls in your court, use some forethought,
Do not play it down the line.”

¶ 11 Leave a comment on verse 11 0 That day onwards, Clem’s career
Went into a sharp decline,
Not selected, as expected,
Lest he play it down the line.

¶ 12 Leave a comment on verse 12 0 When his contract had been honoured,
Clem said he would not re-sign,
Left the club and hit the pub and
Laid his liver on the line.

¶ 13 Leave a comment on verse 13 0 Whiskey, vodka, Stag and Guinness,
Fortified with sparkling wine,
Drinks were endless, he was friendless,
Never thrown a safety line.

¶ 14 Leave a comment on verse 14 0 When the money had been frittered,
He refused to mope and pine,
Left his home ‘n’ went a-roamin’
Down the nearest railway line.

¶ 15 Leave a comment on verse 15 0 On the railroads round the country,
From the Tamar to the Tyne,
One might meet him, warmly greet him
As he wandered down the line.

¶ 16 Leave a comment on verse 16 0 Soon his clothes got old and tattered,
Trousers held aloft with twine,
Round his middle hung a fiddle
Which he oft played down the line.

¶ 17 Leave a comment on verse 17 0 Then one day, he drank too much of
Sparkling produce of the vine,
On he staggered, gaunt and haggard,
Fiddle jigging down the line.

¶ 18 Leave a comment on verse 18 0 Loud the music, so he didn’t
Hear the roaring ten oh-nine.
He was battered and was splattered
Half a mile along the line.

¶ 19 Leave a comment on verse 19 0 He was buried in a graveyard
With a very steep incline.
Looking over ‘cross the clover
At the Great North-western line.

¶ 20 Leave a comment on verse 20 0 Some folk say they see a figure,
When the shrouds of fog entwine,
Most entrancing, fiddle dancing
As he plays it down the line.

¶ 21 Leave a comment on verse 21 0 What a fullback, what a fullback,
What a fullback, Clement Ine.
Thou art gone and lost forever,
Dreadful sorry, Clement Ine.