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the ol’ sod

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 There I was
Middle aged
Middle class
Middle of a Saturday afternoon
In mid autumn
In the middle of my back garden
In my average suburban semi
Merrily mowing the lawn
The last perfunctory cut before winter
The ground too muddy and wet, really
But it had to be done

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 And then it struck me
It was almost three
Was that the time?
Yes, I heard the church bell chime
And imagined the shrill blast of a whistle
That would start proceedings, from Old Lats, to Partick Thistle

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 There, in the turf, right underfoot
The memories came flooding back :
That age old thinking
The weekly ritual
Arrive at the ground, check out the pitch
Would it take a stud?
Moulded, rubbers or metal?
Short or long?

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 And the answer, long studs, yielding, not too muddy (yet)
Perfect for defenders
Making sliding tackles
And I was mentally there
Ready to play
To get kitted out
Excitement rising
Adrenalin fuelling
The forthcoming duelling

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 And then my ancient body creaked
And groaned
My heart moaned
Reality dawned :
Not able even for the 30 square yards
Of my little back garden
Realisation irately registered :
I’m no longer fit enough even to be groundsman

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 So, for any of you lads and lasses
Sitting there, in front of a pc, or the tv
In warmth and comfort
Not committed enough
Or feeling too rough –
Get out there
And play
While you’re still able

Old Lats : Old Latymerians, Southern Amateur League

And I should have been there last week, for a reunion match
and bar-b-q

Sorry lads

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/the-ol-sod/