Football Poets

Jailhouse Cup (Final)

Guv’nor plonked a Big Screen in a London Jail,
Inmates gathered round, they had no wine or ale.
Only wheatgrass, tea or coffee they could sup,
But my, you shoulda seen ’em lap that Final Up!

Let’s watch, everbody, let’s watch!
Not one fella in that calaboose
Had any thought of breaking loose!

Norman Stanley Fletcher’s norm’lly for the O’s,
Just for ninety minutes rooted for the Blues,
Buddy, cellmate Godber piped up from his bed:
“If you’re supporting City, I’ll be for the Reds…”

Let’s gawp, everybody let’s gawp!
Everybody in that London clink,
Was drunk on Footie, not on drink.

Hardman Scot, MacKay was yellin’ “U-NI-TED”!
Sotto voce Barrowclough: “C’mon, Citeh”
Who’d ‘ve ever thunk you’d see a pair of “screws”,
Gettin’ so worked up about the Reds ‘n’ Blues?

Let’s stare, everybody let’s stare!
Everybody in that Cockney Jug,
Was het up ‘ bout the F. A. Cup!

Sev’ral thousand miles away across the Pond,
Transatlantic Cousins now of Soccer fond.
In Shawshank, St Quentin, Alcatraz, Sing Sing,
To Wembley, London, England they was all tuned in!

Let’s rock, everybody, let’s rock!
Every Convict in that Metro Quod,
Was jivin’ to the F.A. Rock!

Zena is a bustlin’ Port in Italee,
In a certain quarter known as Marassee,
There’s no talk of Genoa or Sampdoree,
Tutti allo Schermo son’incollati!

Guardiam, dai ragazzi, guardiam!
Tutti quanti in quell’ vecch’ prigion,
Davanti alla tel’vision…

1/6/23
Denys E. W. Jones

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Merseyside glory

It’s been 16 years since the red stars
Were aligned when the Albert Dock
Flung open its blinds, stretched and yawned
To the realisation that Liverpool had done it again
When Steven Gerrard fired a destructive rocket
Past Shaka Hislop the claret and blue custodian
From what felt like Swansea or perhaps Glamorgan
But Liverpool lifted the FA Cup
As once again yesterday
They walked together rather than
Alone, Cup winners again
Under the Wembley Arch
Shanks, Bob Paisley and Joe Fagan
Must have been giggling somewhere
Out there, recognition of yet more
Legendary feats
This time Jurgen Klopp
Moved to the sensuality of the
Anfield beat in North London,
Thick black and grey beard
Alive and functioning,
Face wreathed in smiles
Baseball cap perched aloft
Hair of pepper and salt
Liverpool fated to win the Cup
Since Chelsea were probably
Harking back to last year,
The year before and finally
For the third successive year
Heartbreak at the Bridge
But Tuchel’s titans will know
Fonder memories and brighter
Days again and yet
Defeat, criminal negligence
To those in the Shed
Where once Chelsea
Hailed Roman
Rather than Caesar
European Champions
But not for much longer
Leicester and Arsenal
Cut the Blues down
In years gone by
When the mantle of royal
Purple seemed the perfect cut
From the kick off
Yesterday when you could
Still hear the voices
Of Stans Matthews and Mortensen
Calling out joyfully from
1953. When the world was
In black and white
And TV’s reminded you
Of goldfish bowls and then
When Alan Sunderland
Steered home the winner
For Arsenal, 1979 Beaujolais
A geographical oxymoron
And Manchester United
Collapsed in the Wembley heat
Losing to the Gunners cannon
Firing blanks, no Old Trafford heights
Then a year before
Roger Osborne bore no relation
To his distinguished uncle and playwright
John. Oh but we jest, Osborne
A Suffolk pint of refreshing lager
Ipswich within the warm embrace
Of the Wembley FA Cup glory
Glory afternoon back catalogue
But yesterday Liverpool found
A Merseyside masterclass
A composition of beautifully
Written quavers and crotchets
Simple chords, finely executed
Notes, strings tuned to perfection
Choruses and verses, clear as a bell
Liver birds in excelsis
Movements in different keys
Tinkling the ivories again
Maybe Premier League
Winners again sooner
Rather than later
So Chelsea, Chelsea is
Our name and blue
Will be the colour
As opposed to yesterday’s
Yellow, rather like the splashes
Of primary colours
And deep shadows that preoccupied
Wembley in its deepest and most
Pensive thoughts yesterday
But then Mo Salah, Jordan Henderson,
Sadio Mane, James Milner, the upstanding
Virgil sitting like a rock bathing in pools
Of North London light, a monumental
Sight, immovable, indestructible, battening
Down the defensive hatches, a footballing
Anchor, rather like Emlyn or Phil and Ron
Of yesteryear, Hughes, Thompson and Yeats
Just as impassable as London buses
In the heat of the weekly rush hour
Then Jordan Henderson immaculate as
The Conception of the Anfield birth
Of an era that finally claimed the Premier
League title. Oh Hosanna, Henderson
Approaching autumn of his career
But still deeply in love of possession of
A ball spraying passes like artistic graffiti
On the walls of London. Art nouveau.
Illustrations and carvings in Cup Final
Long ago repertoires
Liverpool in total command
Yesterday for much of its duration,
Then losing the baton in the second
Half, jittery, sloppy and slovenly
Overcome by late evening stage fright
Nerves twanging like red elastic bands
Chelsea and Liverpool
Head to head, ding dong
Flowing like Father Thames
Footballing Harlem Globetrotters
Nothing between them
A mini classic, thrillingly close
On Sheffield knife edge
In the second half
Chelsea show signs of vibrato
Vivacity in yellow but
Far from jaundiced
Now energised and electrified
Reece James, Alonso and the
Mightily impressive Thiago Silva
An ageless ornament, clutching
Creaking bones at times but
Then imprinting his reliable self
Onto the day’s textbook
Finally Kante enters proceedings
But even class simply can’t tell
Mason Mount, so visionary and insightful
Looking around at Wembley like a sixth
Form academic, drinking in the draught
Of its architectural magnificence
An England undergraduate now
Confidence gushing from the fountains
Of youth,
Rudiger and Jorginho
Commanders in chief
On the top deck of this
Maritime beauty
Smooth as coffee on a
Sunday morning
Then Chalobah and Kovacic
Pillars and columns in front
Of defence, maintaining and
Caressing a football
Like men who were meant to win
But then found a red sea
Of biblical proportions
And finally penalty shoot outs
Hold the back page, your breaths
Suspended like the high wire
Dramatic broadcasts
From electricity pylons,
Finger biting exertions, heads
Barely capable of taking in
The immensity of it all
Tensions snapping,
Then the Greek
Amphora of red wine
Tsimikas wins the Cup
For Liverpool,
Merseyside complete
Accomplished again

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