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Obscene amounts, absolute thousands on thousands –
Enough to service the third world debt. As much as
The GDP of most African countries, and it’s paid
Not yearly, nor monthly – but weekly; how could
One man spend so much ? You can only live in one
House at a time, or drive one car at a time; Madness.
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Millionaires by thirty, or sooner – no need to graft
Till sixty five, and what to do when your legs go ?
Be a telly, or radio punter; an ‘expert’ they’re called.
They’re all at it – bland, inoffensive comment; nothing
To ruffle the feathers of the game that made them so
Wealthy; no whistle-blowing here, just the ghosted book.
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So maybe they’re overpaid – but where’s the fault ?
Would you turn down 100K a week, if it were offered on
A plate …the clubs plead poverty, but it’s a problem of
Their own making. Average journeymen – not just the
Match-winners, paid way above their true worth – and
Then players bleat about privacy, respect, even loyalty…
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No wonder we’re nostalgic for the days of old, when
Football – and life – was certainly not innocent, but
Was definitely simpler, cheaper and more enjoyable.
Now it’s a cash-drenched quagmire – players, agents,
Managers, administrators up to their necks in grubby
Corruption – but innocent, if they squeal loudly enough.
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Then raise your glasses of Chardonnay, and celebrate
This wonderous, perpetuating phenomenon – football
Is the reason for being, the reason for living to so many.
They pay up and pay up for a piece of the Premier cake,
Their bond with the sport – forged in youth – now taken
Advantage of by greedy clubs, biting the hands that feed.
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The swaying, terraced masses are long gone – so too are
Their chants, their language, their behaviour; largely a
Thing of history. We’re expected to be passive consumers
Now – happy, nay desperate to spend fortunes on tickets,
And in the club shop; made to feel inadequate if we don’t.
One day, though, the balloon in the SKY will finally burst.
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And then foriegn investors, the corperate hangers-on,
The feckless families who go because it’s fashionable
Will fade away elsewhere, and maybe the game will reclaim
Its roots, its heart, its soul – the ordinary folks who packed
In year on year, but are now excluded by the money men
Will return again; we can but hope, and dream, and pray.