Two Forty Five Of A Saturday….

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 A regular crowd shuffle in
Dads hold the hand of wayward kids straying
Geed up by the sound of the singing.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 As twenty two journeymen take to the field,
Shake hands and prepare to engage
A small crowd of youngsters are reciting the spiel
Common at most of our games.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 The air’s turning blue with a parlez
Stevedores might use down the docks
Aimed toward visitors in from the Medway
Cheering The Gills on the trot.

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Accusations of “Racists” seemed somewhat unfounded
As we sat in the Gillingham end
What The Gills sang back then, kinda left me dumbfounded?
Seems to me there’s still fences to mend?

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 Out on the turf, the ball came down with snow on it
After spending an age in the air,
One or two of the journeymen had a right job controlling it
But then the pitch was real bad to be fair.

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 The Gills nicked a one nil, and looked to be coping
With The Robin’s attack and dire field
As the home punters gave their support in faith hoping
The Robins would let fly at The Gills.

7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 The interval came there were raffles and half times
As a group of small kids trod the pitch
Intending hitting ‘the bar’ from the eighteen yard line
Which two of ‘em did, and they’ve the medals to prove it.

8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 Proceedings resumed, The Gills were still singing
The home fans were silent be now
The Robins made two changes, in scant hope of winning
Where the dugout bore witness to a row.

9 Leave a comment on verse 9 0 Plastic bottles went flying, as the tugged turned aggressive
Cursing the boss for his stance
In truth the two benched hadn’t been that impressive
Except in displaying their petulance.

10 Leave a comment on verse 10 0 The Gills added two more, were streets ahead of Cheltenham
The whistle blew, we trooped off in the rain
But what’s written seems somewhat insignificant in comparison
To events unfolding on a field down ‘The Lane’.



Hang in there Fabrice son and go well. As I write, the news says he’s making some progress, and long may it continue.



Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/two-forty-five-of-a-saturday/