Wounded Pride.

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Would history repeat itself, on a cold Parisienne night?
A deft fleet footed tiny elf, vacate his throne, take flight?
The answers to such questions, quickly disappeared
In a blitz of ball possession, to be dreamed about, revered.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 PSG turned up at home to play, win, entertain, and enthral
But, to play as wizened pundits say, a team needs have a ball
Relentless in subtle approach play, little give and go’s sublime
Another sphere, another day? Barca victors come half-time.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 Sipping Fentimans Ginger Beer n ice, I urge Dembele…score
Not once, not twice, not thrice times, an exasperated four
Reminded of Meadowlark and co, I envy PSG their thankless task
Eclipsing Barcelona’s ebb n flow? Seemed an unattainable ask.

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Despite a double dodgy penalty, a blinding Messi thunderbolt
Seemed to me at least that PSG, struggled hard through-out to cope
Messi sees his spot-kick saved, followed by a frantic free for all
PSG trudge off the field of play, seeking out the BFC exclusive ball.

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 Would the second half surpass the first? Dembele caress the elusive net?
Might PSG quench Barcelona’s thirst, lack nous, sit back, en garde, regret?
What happened during the second-half, is of little consequence at all?
PSG stutter through midst a nervous gasp, trying to find and keep the ball.

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 During the initial forty-five plus minutes, watching the Barcelona way to play
The intricate deft give and goes within it, retrieving the odd ball gone astray
I’m reminded football’s a simple game, to control, receive or make a pass*
Played by a team, not one lauded selfish pseudo-God, ply’s his trade on grass.

7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 The Champions League dream done n dusted, this decimated term at least
Barcelona bid, au revoir to Paris encrusted in plaudits post a veritable T.V. feast
Sometimes it isn’t the at all cost winning, attracts fans hankering after fame
It’s the pleasure your teams delivering, in the guise of playing a simple game.



“Football is a simple game based on the giving and taking of passes, of controlling the ball and of making yourself available to receive a pass. It is terribly simple”. Bill Shankly.

Watching PSG v Barca the other evening. I completely got what the Merseyside maestro was going on about, back in his day. Wherever he may be, your man must have been drooling at the sheer simplicity of the Barca philosophy, beautifully orchestrated for the forced to stay at home punter to savour. I’m no statistician, yet watching Barca barely break sweat fizzing the ball around at often bewildering speed, excluding the blinding goal scored, and the penalty saved, I had Barca creating twelve decent goal-scoring chances, during a jaw dropping first-half, four of which fell to Ousmane Dembele, in the first twenty minutes. PSG at times looked like proper Patsies rolled out to try and stop The Harlem Globetrotters, chasing shadows and a ball long gone. Despite being four one up, from the first leg. Catch if you can dear reader, this football master-class in sheer unadulterated…simplicity. Blinding stuff.


Stay safe, come what may, raise both hands, grasp the day.

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/wounded-pride/