Football Poets

England, Scotland

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 England, Scotland,
Welcome to this world
Of brazen commercialism
Uncle Sam,
The Stars and Stripes
USA and not forgetting
Mexico and Canada
Gorging on feasts of
Reckless expenditure
Mountains of salt beef
Beigels and doughnuts
By the lorryload
America just overwhelmed
By soccer’s
Abundant fruit bowls
Of soccer sweetness
Sheer nectar, Jeeves!
This is their time
A billion dollar spectacular homage
To the Beautiful Game
Flattered to be feted
By the world’s greatest
Chat shows by the second
Donald Trump’s outlandish empire
Of a million words and sentences
Flooding through a
Reservoir of gifted talent
The constant psychobabble
Information chattering from
Billions of media empires
Fox, CNN, Good Morning America
Last night England in Boston
But not the tea party
We were hoping for
Instead our friends from Ghana
Threw a stifling blanket over
A low block padlocked key of
Watertight defence
No way through, no avenues,
No thoroughfares or chinks of light
England shut out by a yellow fortress
We’ve been here before
Four years ago
Our loyal allies from across the pond
The American dream
Washed over England’s blurred vision
England thwarted, denied by
Some supernatural force
Indeed they stooped to stop
John Bull’s swashbucklers
And so England stumble
Once again in
Second game syndrome
They huffed and puffed
Laboriously, painfully
Ghana just gleeful
It was all short, short,
Quick, quick, sideways
Backwards and forwards
Like men shifting
An enormous rock
Going nowhere, really
Passive and pedestrian
Guehi, Rice, Bellingham,
Madueke, James, Anderson
Prodding and probing,
Spraying a confetti of
Slow, slow passing
Like faded pearls
From your family’s
Ancestral past
It was achingly awkward
Like a bent over tramp
Traipsing down a country lane
Shuffling along an
American freeway
Hip flask in his hand
Thumbing a lift
Last night a goal-less draw
For Thomas Tuchel’s
Worldly and enlightened
England,
Three Lions on the chest
More a subdued leopard
In the undergrowth
Sleeping off
The night time wanderings
And loiterings
Not good enough
But surely Panama
Will not throw their hat
Into the ring on Saturday
Surely into the knock out stages
Scotland, of course
Always content with
Incessant bagpipes of
Peace, happiness and hope
Haiti beaten but then
Morocco mauled them
To the ground
An early shot across the bow
Whiskies drowned in sorrow
Defeated by the new mantra
Reality check
Now there’s a phrase we’ve heard
Repeatedly ad infinitum
It shook England to the core
But now Scotland need
A million miracles of coffee scented
Brazilian generosity
We can still see Ally Macleod
Burying his head in anguished despair
But Steve Clarke had a bowl
Of muesli soaked optimism
For breakfast this morning
He can see much further
Into the World Cup crystal ball
Nostradamus told him
That the promised land
Of knock out football
Could hold hidden treasure
England and Scotland
We’ll follow you all the way

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