In every ground throughout the land
in every area, every stand
sit so many different fans
from plain old James to fancy Dans.
First the dedicated type;
you’ll never hear him moan or gripe,
never hear him bellyache
or even swear for ***** sake.
He’s been going for thirty years
through rain and shine and sweat and tears.
His football club is in his blood
will never ever give it up.
Then there’s the season ticket holder
middle-aged or maybe older;
he’s very protective of his place
take his seat – he’ll slap your face.
Next there’s Mr Once a Season
more than once amounts to treason.
Arrives for kick-off at five to three
cannot quite contain his glee.
Then proceeds to criticise:
“just what is going on you guys?
No wonder I come just once a year;
in any case it’s far too dear.”
Look around you, spot the yob,
could be Lennie, could be Bob.
He’s already dressed for action
mobile phone and action slacks on.
Conversation with his mates:
“Let’s meet up outside the gates.
I’m up for some rough and tumble,
come on lads, let’s have a rumble.”
Towards the front’s the OAP,
tartan rug across his knee.
Recalls the great teams with a sigh,
they caused him tears, they made him cry.
Female fan is to my right,
has only lately seen the light.
Used to go to shopping malls,
now spends Saturdays with her pals.
Seventies throwback’s next in line,
in sheepskin coat he looks just fine.
Keegan perm, face quite spotty
All his mates call him Motty!
Lastly there’s the young supporter,
someone’s son or someone’s daughter.
If what you want is lots of laughter
he’ll provide just what you’re after.