History and Football Pieces
HISTORY
History can sometimes feel like a dead weight,
A yoke of worm-eaten dry as dust irrelevance,
That somehow keeps its shape, meaning and pressure:
All that love of stately home heritage,
All that fetishisation of tradition and deference,
All that limitation on freedom of thought,
And all those manacles on the imagination.
But sometimes it’s a liberating cross to bear,
Opening a parallel universe of scintillating genius,
Leading to a series of tantalising remembrances,
That sort of peep beyond the curtain and a veil
That almost yields to touch and seems almost visible,
But yet remains elusive and yet simultaneously beckoning,
Gently waving in a gentle wind.
So it was this peaceful Sunday evening,
Front room window skyscapes commissioned by Canaletto,
Vertical cumulus cloudscapes all pink and gold and blue –
(Until the next week brought snow scenes straight from Breughel),
And Donald Rogers back at Wembley again in 1969,
Radio 5 broadcasting a grainy old moment
From the days of hospital wireless football commentaries;
Then Terry Wogan and Gabie Roslin,
Whimsically shouting “Never Again”,
On the Eurovision null points rerun,
Something of an unfortunate dumbing down,
For an anti-fascist Holocaust slogan,
That should be unsullied by postmodernist ironies.
And the next week brought more historical invocations,
When Al Quaeda claimed responsibility for Madrid’s carnage,
Citing Spanish involvement in the Crusades as justification,
And when aboriginal and native peoples took governments to court,
Trying to secure compensation for land loss,
And when African states claimed recompense through the UN
For the depredations of slavery,
And when cricket brought enthusiastic partial reconciliation
To the Asian sub-continent of India and Pakistan.
And there’s me thinking about all this history and mass soc,
Walking past the windswept rain-swept Sunday League soccer match,
Watching my ghost out there on the right wing,
Scurrying home for the minute’s silence on the radio:
Wolverhampton Wanderers versus Aston Villa,
Two names redolent of the Industrial Revolution
When Brummagem goods were bartered for Africa’s slaves:
Manacles and leg irons and iron masks,
The dead weight of History.
The Pits
It wasn’t quite 20 years ago today
That the coal strike started up,
“Coal not Dole”, the watchwords,
“The Flying Pickets” on Top of the Pops,
Miners in our homes,
Fighting on the telly,
The police on overtime:
The climactic conflict of our times,
When Collectivism succumbed
To the force of self-validating Modernity,
A flameless beacon for Blair
And a New Millennium momentum
Of relentless Americanisation.
No more would colliery winding gear
Bring forth an endless stream of footballers
From the historic coal-fields
Of England, Wales and Scotland;
The legacy of Busby, Shankly and Stein,
Of Co. Ashington, Dudley, Merthyr, et al,
Would be replaced by heritage museums
And mis en scene simulacra,
And by a premier league self-aggrandisement
Based upon a fan base, rather than supporters,
And based upon the canting hypocrisy of management-speak,
That just occasionally reveals its essential inhumanity,
When unironically using phrases like “human resources”.
We’re the only ones who dig deep now,
Just isolated pockets of conflict and conscience.
About This Site
Welcome to Football Poets -- a club for all football poets, lovers of football and lovers of (alternative) poetry. Discover poets in every league from respected internationals at the top of their game to young hopefuls in the school playground.
Publish your football poems here and then discuss them with your team mates and fans. We're archived by The British Library, so your masterpieces are in the safe hands of a world-class keeper. What a result!
My Account
Latest Poems
Denys E. W. Jones
30th January 2023
joe morris
29th January 2023
Crispin Thomas
25th January 2023
joe morris
23rd January 2023
Denys E. W. Jones
23rd January 2023
joe morris
14th January 2023
joe morris
8th January 2023
kevin raymond
7th January 2023
joe morris
6th January 2023
Crispin Thomas
6th January 2023
Crispin’s Corner
In Memoriam
Kick It Out & Christmas Truce
Latest Comments
5th December 2022 at 8:11 pm
Stuart, you are not alone, in your dichotomy of doubt
but without dissention
you stand alone
in hogging our attention!
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16th November 2022 at 11:04 am
[Football on soiled turf]
This is a wonderful phrase which I shall be using from now on!
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15th November 2022 at 3:54 pm
Well said Crispin. One of the reasons for The Ball 2022/23 is exactly this – that FIFA need to know. The Ball is essentially a petition to FIFA to honour their commitments to the UN Sports for Climate Action Framework. They signed up; they should act. The Qatar tournament takes the World Cup in the opposite direction to that commitment. And 2026 looks like it’ll be even worse.
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8th November 2022 at 2:06 pm
Hi Guys
Re ‘Lets Boycott Qatar ‘ poem
You probably hate me banging on..and problably know (like me) that my/your not watching the World Cup in Qatar will make no difference.
Of course it won’t. That’s not the point.
OK someone might possibly eventually publish a minimal drop in terrestrial TV viewer numbers, but I fear that is unlikely.
But please above all, do go on writing poems about the World Cup, as/you we have always done. I hate to think a poem or two of mine might l make you feel bad about comenting on a game or country …or that I’ve put you all off about wanting to contribute.
So we’d love to hear from you and read your thoughts and observations, as ever on what’s going on.
Some of us have been here since Football Poets website birth/inception for the Euros 2000 ….
All my best wishes
Crispin
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18th October 2022 at 10:06 am
Shoot! (Something we’ve also been screaming in vain at our team all season !)
Great memories Joe . Before Shoot, it was Roy of the Rovers comic too, dropping through my letterbox.
Anxiously waiting each week to see if they survived in the mexcian jungle after an ambush..or a pre-season earthquake!
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3rd October 2022 at 8:32 pm
Thanks for the kind words Sharon. Yes, it was a shame with Billy Shako, but with five subs now being allowed, he might yet make it off the bench. Even if it’s just a cameo to close out a poem.
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2nd October 2022 at 1:49 pm
John, your new book is an absolute delight and more please. It’s a shame ‘Swapping Shirts With Shakespeare’ never made it off the bench, but quality football poets light up the writing fields like Roman candles. Go well.
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4th September 2022 at 12:42 pm
Great memories Greg. Took me right back.
Today I stand on a small terrace in the hills where I live watching Forest Green Rovers in L1, and keep up with Chelsea on highlights. It’s a far cry and a world away from those times when I lived as a child within walking distance of ‘The Bridge’ – just off the Ifield Road, which led to Fulham Road. The Blues were rubbish for so long, but we loved them and somehow we stayed in the old First Division for so many seasons. And of course we got to see Greavesie at his impudent best, scoring goals for fun. Mad unpredictable games where we’d score 4 and let in five.
The looming floodlights in the dark and mist on magic night games. The big games when the ground heaved.
I don’t think we ever realized how magical and incredible it was back then. The atmosphere and arriving there so early – like you said.. just to make sure you got in. Back when Bovril, tea and cake and roasted peanuts for sixpence a back were just about all on offer.
Good times.
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4th September 2022 at 12:37 pm
see above
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18th August 2022 at 10:20 am
To put it politely!
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