When An Old Ground Goes
¶ 1
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The day you dreaded came to be
And in its wake for all to see
The history so swift destroyed
The home and those all once employed
The rollercoaster ups and downs
The team had ridden in this town
The sadness ev’ry true fan knows
The moment when an old ground goes
¶ 2
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Discarded wooden seats in stands
Where once sat faithful cloth-capped fans
Who clapped and moaned and sung in here
And dreamt success would soon appear
To ev’ry goal they ever saw
And though they long for just one more
Abandoned floodlights pierce the sky
As one more ground now waves goodbye
¶ 3
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The memories encased in tears
The wins and losses down the years
The programme seller in the street
The unknown fans you’d often meet
The weeds between the concrete steps
The twisted posts and perished nets
The pitch so sad and overgrown
The home for decades we have known
¶ 4
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This special sacred meeting place
This focal point on Saturdays
This source of noise and anarchy
That meant so much to you and me
But now it lies and fades with time
This home that once was yours and mine
That some developer will try
To turn to housing by and by
¶ 5
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And though we will go on somehow
Way out of town and sterile now
A stadium that looks the same
As many that now grace the game
We won’t forget the times we spent
The barriers on which we leant
This special place where dreams were shared
Where disappoitnent often reared
But none as sad as each fan knows
The moment when an old ground goes
Your poem immediately made me think of that article, Crispin. When I moved up to York in 1976 almost the first thing I did was go to watch a game at Bootham Crescent. It was my way of anchoring myself in the place, finding my bearings.