What- no football tomorrow?
¶ 1
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No football tomorrow
Football in a
Desolate wasteland
Of concrete worlds
And hollow echoes
Of yesterday
The Premier League
Rests its aching
Ligaments, tendons
Ankles, legs and
Arms
Its wars and battles
Injured cruciates
Stilled, at bay
Mend those
Agonised sprains
The excruciating pain
Of the crunching tackle
That should have been
A penalty. Not given.
We’ll never know
Why. Then
Recovery, complete
Re-charged batteries
But still
The fans yearn
To be among family,
And friends
The warm
Communality of
It all, where once
The meat pie
Timed to coincide
With half time
Pleasantries
Lively bon
Mots
And bonhomie
Followed by
Thermoses
Of tea and
Contemplation
No football tomorrow
Though, it’s unheard
Of, unthinkable
None of those
Boyish, boisterous
Chants of terrace
Cheering and bellowing,
Salty compositions
Yet fondly sung
No VAR for this week
At least
No referees with sprays
Where corner flags
Strike up lifelong
Alliances wth goal
Posts while cross
Bars wait for
Another day
In the wintry
Gloom, but who
Cares
We’ll miss football
At Saturday lunchtime,
Afternoon, a rarity, almost
An oddity and then
We conclude football
Will never be the same
Without its traditional
Continuity
So we’ll long for those
Hugged touchlines
The wing wizardry
That plucked heart
Strings across our
Dreamscapes of
Being at the match
With the people
We love
So tomorrow we’ll
Scan the papers
For scraps and
Remnants of
Transfer gossip,
Resounds
Endlessly,
Interminable
Propaganda
But for Jesse
Lingard we’ll
Roll out the
Carpet for
The West Ham
Parade around
Our streets
Sadly, though
Football without
Throat, noise,
Volume or poise
A soundless chasm
Where nothing
But stillness
Survives
Emptiness around
Terraces that once
Shook with joy
Next weekend
Though
The FA Cup
Trundles into
A million perspectives
The Fourth Round
Restores our faith
In football humanity
Since tomorrow
It’s only speculation
And if only
We’d played
At home again
Victory
Would be
Ours in our
Eyes and ears
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