Football Poets

There’s No Place Like Home!

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Where we laugh out loud at the booing
When those out of our love are read out
Then our tone quickly changes to borderline cooing
At those loves we perceive as devout.

¶ 2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Browsing through chic glossy pictures
Of the lads on some soiree abroad
Where a paparazzi hired purely for business
Keeps us ‘strapped for cash’ punters informed.

¶ 3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 Chanting and screaming, we turn the air blue
Holding one’s head in one’s hands
Almost losing the plot with the young millionaire who
Did a Roger Davies when missing that chance.

¶ 4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 The insults we’ve aimed at officials
Hurled with real pure venom and hurt
The cat-calling, booing, and awful false whistles,
Enquiries for a valid birth cert?

¶ 5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 Dreaming of days when the idols you watched
Were real men who you knew would plough on
Till the very last seconds on a referees clock
Nowadays with that hand spin they’re gone.

¶ 6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 Where grey tepid tea costs an arm and a leg
Likewise dish water beer you detest
Where you look up above for guidance and beg
Please don’t send him off for that, Ref?

¶ 7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 The up and down antics of those sat near by
Twitching in angst in their seats
Devastated children, real tears in their eyes
When their falsetto heroes get beat.

¶ 8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 Architects errors where we sit watching games
(Where the blind-spots can drive one ballistic)
Of a working class sport lacking all three to it’s shame
Full of punters like me who sure miss it.

¶ 9 Leave a comment on verse 9 0 Eastern Bloc concourses cold without soul
In dire need of a good coat of paint
Where drunks through a haze diss the team, then yell Goal
At the live telly’s showing ’em’ the game?

¶ 10 Leave a comment on verse 10 0 The jack’s a pop hamburger, that’s 100% beef
From some nag that was slaughtered we’re told
At least when outside being robbed on the street
Such fare isn’t totally disgusting and cold.

¶ 11 Leave a comment on verse 11 0 Storey, Hunter, Smith and McKay
Dugdale, Gow, Beattie and Cripps
Names that you knew rarely fainted and cried
Or waved imaginary cards on being kicked.

¶ 12 Leave a comment on verse 12 0 Nail chewing, clock watching, how long to go?
To stay put or miss that last train
It’s gotta be full time ref, come on please blow?
When he does, we’re relieved of our pain.

¶ 13 Leave a comment on verse 13 0 Arguments had with a same coloured scarf
On who should be leading the team
Up front on his own, are you having a laugh?
Where opinions can change through the season.

¶ 14 Leave a comment on verse 14 0 The ‘I know a bloke’ gossip, we use to impress
That’s as sound as a castle on sand
Trying to outdo our neighbours (it came from the press)
We’ve a big move for so and so planned.

¶ 15 Leave a comment on verse 15 0 That return to the real world on leaving
As the blood pressure slowly comes down
And guess what? We’ll be back there next term believing
Which is why we always go back to The Ground!

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