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Wind-up

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 what a brilliant wind-up
“put that in your next book”
mimes Jason McAteer
ignoring, the look
that brings such fear
to so many opponents
from a man, who has his moments
of raging red mists
with a mind that desists
from rendering reason
at any stage in the season –
incapable, of controlling the ire
that underpins his desire
and with his shaky psyche
highly unlikely
to pause and rationalize
while so blinkered to the prize –
undoubtedly, a man of all heart
and elbow apart
great to see some good old fashioned joshing
while on our prawn sarnies we were noshing
for as we dine
midst an ethos so anodyne
in this epoch of fiscal might
players are now so pc and too polite
as well as too busy getting on with the game
dogmatically chasing the road to fame –
whatever happened to the cheeky grins, that sense of fun
the smiles that flashed, whether you lost or won
the leg-pulling, the playing to the crowd
the performers, who primped and preened and swaggered so proud
the fit and the dandy
all ready to bandy
insults and jokes
anything that provokes
a reaction, a response, to establish a rapport
someone to goad, then to mock, when they score
have all the characters been lost
now that it’s win at all cost?
is the game now bereft
or is there anyone left
to introduce the right amount of needle, to sew up a game
or does it fit the pattern, that things will never be the same?

Notes

Osgood, Best, Marsh, Currie, Hudson, George, Worthington, etc, etc, … to name but a few …
Did Gazza turn out the lights?

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/wind-up/