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Poems tagged ‘Chelsea’

First Home Game ~ Chelsea 6-2 Wolves .30 Aug ’58 (60 Years On)

Crispin Thomas

Thursday, August 30th, 2018

I recall that Saturday like yesterday
a steaming summer
our first home game in ‘58
excitement
and childlike expectation in the air
August in London and sweltering
“stand clear of the doors!” “wear your colour!”
“official programme sixpence a go!”
“roasted peanuts ‘tanner’ a bag!”
welcome to the season welcome to Wolves
stopping to gaze at star badges
of Blunstone and Greaves in plastic and blue
as bearing down on Stamford Bridge
those teeming weaving crowds
all short-sleeved in the Fulham Road
and in the distance floodlight pylons
tower and loom on blue blue sky
while sun sparkles on concrete old and open
ninepence for kids one and six for adults
but wait what’s this ? sold out and heaving!!
you said “let’s try bunking in” and we did
between the legs in turnstile mayhem
nervous and torn clutching melting lollies
and passed down the front
we sat in awe upon that track
62,000 behind us baying swaying

and do you remember the score?
six-two
a blur of blue and gold
of goals and cheers
young Jimmy rampant as that crested lion
nabbing five and making the sixth
Billy Wright chasing shadows
you with two ribbons to a wooden rattle stapled
and me in my rough striped scarf
that mum had sat up half the night
embroidering strange names upon
but I wore it in the heat anyway
and later in the street
on neighours walls with chalk for goalposts
between the ice cream van and the pavement
we lived it through again and again and again
and never knew that to this day we always would

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Happened Kinda Fast…

kevin raymond

Sunday, July 29th, 2018

Peeling spuds, washing glasses
Using knives n forks, serviettes an plates
Instead of…greasy mitts in a chicken box,
Blue shirt proclaiming; “Gian-Franco Zola. God”!
Quaffing Stella by the telly with his mates.

Then…this blinding bird moved in
Inspired an immediate change in him
Why he even…pressed the suit he wore for work?
Away games and the mighty craic?
She put a bleeding stop to all o that
He was down the gym, most Saturdays with her.

Caught an inkling things weren’t right
When instead of poker Friday nights
He’d be home indoors preparing her risotto
Right, that’s like a glutinous boiled rice?
Reminded us of a blinding night
We watched a classic out in Munich (with a ruby) we’d forgotten?

Things went from very bad to worse
Heard he visited our local church
Talking to a priest bout getting hitched
Even went round to meet her folks
A rumour spread was he’d proposed
Made us hastily check that seasons fixture list.

Then…the nuptials front went quite
He turned up at poker, Friday night
Asking us enthused about the team?
“Read The Evening Standard, don’t yer mate?”,
“Nah haven’t done of late
Too involved with parquet floors it seems?

But I’m glad all that’s over now
When are we away to Huddersfield Town?”
He asked with a cheeky smile, checking his cards
Well. What a Friday night we had that day
Seemed like he’d never been away
We totally had a blast, partying hard.

Anyways a week or two went by
Instead of sleeping dogs being let lie
We asked (like nosy gits) what caused the split?
Well. His face went crimson red
Bit of trouble catching breath
Then with vitriol spat it out, and this it….

“She was gorgeous, really cute
Even showed me how to press me suit
Problem came when I asked her dad could I wed his daughter?
Said I could on a condition bordering on bleeding farcical
He expected me at The Emptiness, cheering on The Arsenal*
I ain’t jumping ship – says I – for no team from “Over The Water”?

Well. He cracked a jeroboam of shampoo
Clinking crystal flutes we knew
Our mate had sorted his relationship conundrum:
See. A bloke may Love a beautiful bird whom he adores
But he’d have always held a torch – in his heart – for a paramour
Along The Fulham Road, in South West London!

Peace.

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Ere Geez! I Dunno If You Know But…

kevin raymond

Friday, July 13th, 2018

The best kept secret in football is finally out
A situation bordering on West London farce
See’s Antonio Conte’s future no longer in doubt
He’s tin tacked and given his cards.

Last season, at times seemed a clash of the titans
Both sides refusing to budge
Harsh words approaching transfer night dead-line
Resulted in a power crazed slinging of mud.

Surely the vitriol could have been put to one side
For the sake of us fans, and the good of the team?
Sipping a Bovril at half-time, awash in snide lies
Spoils the taste, if…you know what I mean?

Anyway…we, “Move On Up”, as Curtis Mayfield once said?
Or at least I think that’s his saying I heard?
Meanwhile…an Elton John tune bounces round in my head…
‘Twould appear – at least – in this instance here, “Sarri Seems To Be The Hardest Word”?

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Ray haiku

Crispin Thomas

Thursday, April 5th, 2018

they called him the crab

passing with that measured touch

farewell Ray Wilkins

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Anto Neo

Clik The Mouse

Monday, February 19th, 2018

CFC v WBA, 3-0
Goals: Hazard, Moses, Hazard

I attended this match
And brought my bairn
If the Prem be a pile of stones
We’re no longer top of the cairn

The atmosphere was mixed
The title beyond our reach
Performances lately have been ragged
And points we’ve allowed to leach

After a nervy jittery start
We soon rolled in a handsome three
Good to be back on track
And to see us on a spree

An-to-ni-o, An-to-ni-o!
An-to-ni-o, An-to-ni-o!

The manager certainly had our backing
His name chanted between every score
For support he wasn’t lacking
From this unified hard-core

An-to-ni-o, An-to-ni-o!
An-to-ni-o, An-to-ni-o!

With each and every gesture
As he frolicked on the line
The Shed burst into song
That sent a tingle down his spine

An-to-ni-o, An-to-ni-o!
An-to-ni-o, An-to-ni-o!

And such did he acknowledge
When pressed the next day
His partisanship with the crowd
Encouraging him to stay!

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It’s a generational thing

Clik The Mouse

Tuesday, January 9th, 2018

Yet have I to acquaint myself, with Spotify…
An absurdity to those
Who know only of Conte and Kante,
Morata and Hazard

Whereas I
I hark back
To the days of Kunta Kinte,
Osgood, Cooke,
Bonetti, Tambling
Just one of the reasons
Why I have no truck with shirts
Supporting gambling

Bugbears have I many…
“Curmudgeon” could grace my back
Yet I don’t take delight
Every time a sucker gets the sack

Spot if I
Anyone ever connected with my great team
I follow the link
To see howso-endeth, their cosmic dream

Apprentices of yesteryear
Loanees of today
Grounsdmen, medics, stewards
Or those yet to play….

Whereas my kith and kin
Careth not a jot
Unless someone is front and centre,
Of social media renown,
And then they only wish
For a startling comedown

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Our First Home Game in ’58 (Chelsea 6-2 Wolves )

Crispin Thomas

Thursday, August 17th, 2017

I recall that Saturday like yesterday
a steaming summer
our first home game in ‘58
excitement
and childlike expectation in the air
August in London and sweltering
“stand clear of the doors!” “wear your colour!”
“official programme sixpence a go!”
“roasted peanuts ‘tanner’ a bag!”
welcome to the season welcome to Wolves
stopping to gaze at star badges
of Blunstone and Greaves in plastic and blue
as bearing down on Stamford Bridge
those teeming weaving crowds
all short-sleeved in the Fulham Road
and in the distance floodlight pylons
tower and loom on blue blue sky
while sun sparkles on concrete old and open
ninepence for kids one and six for adults
but wait what’s this ? sold out and heaving!!
you said “let’s try bunking in” and we did
between the legs in turnstile mayhem
nervous and torn clutching melting lollies
and passed down the front
we sat in awe upon that track
62,000 behind us baying swaying

and do you remember the score?
six-two a blur of blue and gold
of goals and cheers
young Jimmy rampant as that crested lion
Billy Wright chasing shadows
you with two ribbons to a wooden rattle stapled
and me in my rough striped scarf
that mum had sat up half the night
embroidering strange names upon
but I wore it in the heat anyway
and later in the street
on neighours walls with chalk for goalposts
between the ice cream van and the pavement
we lived it through again and again and again
and never knew that to this day we always would

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More tomorrows please!

Clik The Mouse

Thursday, May 11th, 2017

I crest the wave –
for all of a few seconds
then crash under water
spinning like a chased seal
and finally surfacing
spitting salt ‘n seaweed –
surfing just isn’t my ding-a-ling

I crest the brow of the hill
puffing cheeks like a blowfish
then stare contentedly across the valley –
down on my village nestling
twixt babbling brook and verdant vale

look – there’s the new pitch, new dressing room –
so much to be proud of
and yet…
there’s something missing

for it’s a different code, a different land…

the crest that I crave
is hermetically sealed across my chest
and there’s no doubting
that it’ll be there forever…

but when the boys run out tomorrow
and do their stuff
and win the Prem – again…

I won’t be there
for I’m too far away
an emigré, turning grey
far across the sea –
but that sea of Blue
will ripple right from the start
and crash ashore
like a swell to my heart!

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The Man Who Loves To Dribble

Crispin Thomas

Tuesday, February 7th, 2017

the man who sets the game alight
like fire from tiny twigs
and with a sigh he dances by
the towering – the big

the man who loves to improvise
the concentrating eyes
the teasing shift the grace the twist
all cloaked in sweet disguise

the man who stands there like a child
with dribbling on his mind
the shoulder drops he turns he stops
then leaves them all behind

we watch in wonder and bemused
what happened to last season?
the magic flows the Garden grows
who doesn’t love our Eden?

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Chelsea 6 Newcastle Utd 5

John Oliver

Tuesday, September 22nd, 2015

Sept the 10th 1958
To have been at ‘The Bridge’
Must have been great
A Six Five Special they said at the time
Joy and heartache on The Thames and The Tyne
Young Greaves scored Two and twice smacked the bar
The Geordies hit Five with Len White their star
A wet Wednesday night I seem to recall
But a glorious memory of attacking football
And now up here on Tyneside what do we see
In Six premier league games we have scored only Three
Minimal goal attempts in a disastrous run
And gone are  the ‘Len Whites’ who scored goals for fun.

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Source: https://footballpoets.org/news/poem-tags/chelsea/page/5/