Football Poets

The Lyons Share

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Some people get to meet their footballing hero
years after they’ve finished playing and are barely alive ,
Well , I met mine , not in a bar in Rio de Janiero
but in a Sheffield nightclub , circa 1985 .
I was in the Steel City digging roads up ,
six months work , got by word of mouth ,
found it a lot friendlier and with cheaper ale to sup ,
than being on the big sites down south .
That evening , shaved and suited and booted ,
and stinking of Paco Rabane ,
at the edge of the dance floor , I stood rooted ,
like an early version of Kevin Kilbane .
The dress code was trousers , shirt , jumper ,
and the lads were glad that I came ,
An Owlite who drove the Big Dumper ,
said ” Sum o’t players cum ‘ere after t’ game …”
Sure enough , as we got into the early hours ,
heads turned and gasps filled the air ,
as four Wednesday giants , whose lapels had blue flowers
entered , and the music seemed to stop then and there .
Siggi Jonsson , Lee Chapman , Mel Sterland ,
and , NO , NO , it couldn’t possibly be ,
my hero who spent most matches in a bloody headband ,
surely my bleary eyes were decieving me !
Now I don’t know a lot about much ,
like protons and electrons and ions
or the relevance of the Munich Putsch ,
but I know all about MICK LYONS .
I watched him rise from the reserves ,
leading the line in attack ,
but he never had Davey Johnson’s swerves ,
so he converted to a centre back .
In ’71 he made his debut
though his technique was often questioned ,
he’d run through brick walls for the boys in Blue ,
nowadays he’d probably be sectioned .
He wasn’t averse to tackling . . . . with his head ,
diving in amongst studs and boots ,
he loved his team and for it bled
proud and passionate of his Everton roots .
So I approached him at the bar and said ” Hey , Mick
it would be an honour to buy you an ale , mate . . . ”
He replied ” you Everton . . .lad ?” Is my accent that thick
or did he recognise me from standing by the Boys Pen gate ?
He said “..it’s alright son , don’t give me a saga
about your life , what are youse drinking ? ”
I took a chance and said ” Six pints of Lager . . . . . ”
Well , it was my turn to get the Round in .
Mick never blinked , got in the bevvy ,
and we chatted the night away ,
about his Anfield own goal – a back pass too heavy ,
and the ’77 League cup replay .
He was everything that I wanted him to be
And that’s not looking through blue tinted glasses ,
the lads were getting fed up , I could see
as me and Mick discussed Martin Dobson’s passes .

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