What is the point of living?
Where do we all come from?
What shall we find beyond the grave,
When from this Earth we are gone?
Is there a God in Heaven?
Do damned souls howl in Hell?
Such questions often have been asked.
The answers none could tell.
Though scholars, sages, seers and bards
Have racked their brains and striven
These age-old mysteries to crack,
By Doubt we still are riven.
So cast aside your Jean-Paul Sartre,
Your Hegel, Hume, Hobbes, Horace.
Come to the Stadium with me,
And stand upon the Terrace.
From one short ninety-minute match
Much more I vouch you’ll learn,
Than from those weighty tomes you’ve read,
The pages you have turned.
The plastic-coated leathern sphere’s
A far far greater teacher
Than Plato, Aristotle, Kant,
Locke, Schopenhauer or Nietzsche.
The songs and chants the Crowd belts out,
Are rich in sense profound.
Content so deep you will not find
In Blake or Ezra Pound.
And hearken to the Gaffer’s yells.
He too’s no mean instructor.
Through this dense labyrinth of Life
Let him be your conductor.
One order from the Dugout bawled
Speaks volumes more of Man,
Than all the works of Sigmund Freud,
Jung, Klein or Jacques Lacan.
Come to the Football Ground with me.
Lay down your boring books!
If Wisdom’s source is what you seek,
No further need you look.
Denys E. W. Jones