Football Poets

FA Cup fourth round day

In the land of TV, milk and
Brazen commercialism
The gentlemen of Accrington Stanley
Drink in the calcium goodness
Victory of FA Cup glory
A long way to go for those
Who devour the Lancashire hotpot
With fantasy for lunch
And wishful thinking in those
Half time refreshing cuppas
To doughty hearts
And the citrus uplift orange
But then Leeds break bread
And hearts of Accrington
Nothing but consolation
Of better footballing fates
To sweeten the bitter pill
Leeds who have to look over
The shoulders of over five
Decades for Don Revie’s
1972 boulevardiers
Strutting their stuff
With Sniffer Clarke’s diving
Header against Arsenal
In the centenary FA Cup Final
Settling nerves and just the one
FA Cup on their historic shields
Yesterday Jesse’s Leeds
Too good for the lower orders
Of the Football League
Yorkshire grit prevails
Then Blackburn Rovers,
Reliable as time itself
It’s been many a decade
Since Rovers were anywhere
Near the Wembley of today
And the modern incarnation of the
Twin Towers becomes an Arch
But yesterday held by
The second city of Birmingham
Where once the Commonwealth gathered
In their droves
It’s a replay at St Andrews
But both would prefer the
The hustle and bustle of
More pressing promotion issues
Bristol City who once graced
The top flight many a moon ago
Upset the Baggies of West Brom
Where once Ron Atkinson boasted
Delusional grandeur
And the heady heights of Cup
Semi final, the dazzling glare
Of publicity against the country
Folk of Ipswich
Where once Brian Talbot once gave
Blood for the Tractor Boys
And John Wile donated sweat
And tears for the Baggies
Then Fulham, still comfortable
In their not so thatched cottage
Find renascent Sunderland
In dizzying climb
Back to former glory
The Roker roar
Now much louder and vocal
At Tony Mowbray’s Stadium of Light
Stubborn draw,
Re-assemble in the North East
Where the Black Cats will be
Hospitable and hostile
In equal measure
Ipswich Town aforementioned
In more halcyon days
Sir Alf’s League title winners
Now moving safely into the fifth
Round, let the fenlands and cattle
Bleat their Suffolk approval
Luton booted and suited now
Flaunt their latest trilby hat
The Hatters say take that
To fishing trawlers of Grimsby
Bobbing buoyantly
At Kenilworth Road
Oh what on earth
Would Happy Harry Haslam
Have made of today’s Luton
Once uplifted into the giddy
Whirl of the top flight
Another honourable draw
Against gallant Grimsby
Meanwhile among the pearls and diamonds
Of the Premier League elite
Manchester United topple the Royals
Of Reading
Simply and effectively
Minimum fuss,
United clinical, ruthless
Sailing on their red
Catamaran, Reading
Left with nothing but
Shimmering memories
Of Premier League
Adulation, headlines blinking
In eyes of
Blue and white stripes
When Steve Coppell enjoyed
His managerial excursions
Preston North End
Ah but of course I hear
You cry
Once the Victorian
Invincibles before
the plumber dropped in
To unblock the pipes
Tom Finney
None of the airs or graces
Of the pampered prima donnas
Of future generations
Oh but surely not
Money should mean nothing
But Preston still seeking
The elusive Empyrean
Premier League highs
How much longer must they
Lament at deepest Deepdale
Bundled out of the Cup
By Conte’s Spurs crowing cockerels
There are no number one’s in the year
But Tottenham setting out
Their groaning stall of expectations
Then Sheffield Wednesday who once
Sacrificed two Cups in 1993
When Arsenal doubled their earnings
Wednesday now reduced in status
Held by fleet of feet Fleetwood
Where the Lancashire coastline
Reserve a special spot for
Wintry and muddy warriors and
Muck and bullets marauders
On the South Coast
Relegation fodder Southampton
Yearn for another Lawrie McMenemy
A towering guardsman
But now scrape past the seaside
Promenaders of Blackpool where the Golden
Mile also once rubbed shoulders with
the Arsenals, Cities and Uniteds
Chelsea and the upper crust
Now only remembered for the majestic
Stans of Mortensen and Matthews
Rather like yellowing postcards
And rotting candy floss
From the Blackpool archive
And finally Walsall once Cup giant killers
From a multitude of mellow moons ago
History smiled on the Saddlers
When Arsenal came to Fellows Park
At the beginning of the 20th century
And Herbert Chapman hardly knew
Where to look, fob watch and
Waistcoat, hat famously fashionable
But since then football
Has overlooked Walsall neglected
Like some old railway station
Overgrown with weeds and detritus
A charred ruin of a club
Never in the upper echelons
Of the wealthy and driven
Now always resigned to
Permanent anonymity
The dark, dank wells of
Increasing despair
Sorrow and anguish
In their natural habitat
Even yesterday outfoxed
By Brendan Rogers Leicester
Hunting and foraging
For yet more FA Cup glorification
Having sampled their first FA Cup
In the recent vernacular
Pep’s City strike the first
Psychological blow
Against title rivals
The Gunners from
The Emirates
Five points keep them
Apart in Premier League
Fires of confrontation
But City are through
To the fifth round

Be the first to leave a comment »

A religious conversion

I won’t mention the team. The reason?
I’d like most readers to stick
with this beyond the first lines.
It isn’t which club, or even football,
but about a father and daughter
forming an unexpected, unbreakable
bond, in difficult, teenage times.

My son was all set for the match
but gave up the ticket after his game
in the morning. (A 3-5 thriller, since you ask).
So she came instead, out of curiosity,
and because she had some opposition
players’ pictures, from a teen magazine,
pinned on the wall above her bed.

The Reds, let’s call them, were 2-0 up
after half an hour, could have scored more.
But after the break, the game turned around.
A substitution. The Blues hit four,
and went on to win the cup that year
for the first time since I was a teenager,
to give you some idea of what it meant.

A sacred game that lived on in the memory
and converted my girl, hearing the roars,
seeing the rapture of the crowd and her father,
consumed by an unquestioning glow.
In the car on the way home she stared at my grin.
Dad, you’re so happy. She too was filled
with the spirit; all she’d ever need to know.

Be the first to leave a comment »