|

Thoughts From Behind The Jump*!

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Ten minutes to five on a Saturday
As the regular crowd wander in
I can see etched deep on faces who: weren’t at the races,
Who’s salvaged a draw, nicked a win.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Like zombies en route to the carzy
They square up to bar’s T.V screen
Then wander around like lost sheep in a pound
As if shell-shocked from what they’ve just seen.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 “I’m paying for these” if the team has played well
“What a right load of cobblers” if not
They’ll be down in their cups till ‘last orders’ goes up,
Scoot off home if three points in the pot.

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Or

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 “Barman a round please and have one yerself”
Means the home side have handsomely won
But a crushing defeat, means I’m nameless this week
By “Eight doubles for me and these chumps”

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 Caressing their glasses, the post mortems ask:
“Why was that young keeper picked?
That rampaging left back hell bent on attacking
Should be dropped to the stiffs for next week”.

7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 “How much are we paying our manager?
What?! We could’ve hired a professional for that”
In matter of weeks what was once the bee’s knees
Is suddenly a money grabbing illegitimate chap.

8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 Halcyon days are remembered
When brylcreem and dubbin seemed cool
Match tickets priced at two shillings and six
And when punters weren’t nobody’s fool.

9 Leave a comment on verse 9 0 Brown ale, mild and bitter, Hovis for tea
A brown leather ball, and long shorts (sic)
“When a player earning a score, was pretty well secure*
Without agents or snide Mr Fixits”

10 Leave a comment on verse 10 0 Suddenly a posh voice interrupts the fans whining
Or the jubilant repetitive singing
When Arsenal nil, Fulham two is revealed
There’s a “Barman this next round is on me
What yer’s having? As I’m getting ’em’ in”!

Notes

I’ve often wondered what publicans and pub staff think of us punters who come through a hostelry doors post-match, as the mood of the masses is surely all determined by the result…isn’t it?

But then again at five-o-clock, when all the results come up, T.V can change that mood, especially if a local rival has been beaten to boot?

Carefree…braised in Celery.

Go well, be lucky and keep smiling.

Peace.

Kev.

*In Cockney slang, The Jump is the bar/counter in a pub, a Score is twenty, or as in the context of my poem: twenty pounds a week.

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/thoughts-from-behind-the-jump/?shared=email&msg=fail