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Poems tagged ‘Fans’

Reasons Why Your Team Lost

Did you drink your morning coffee
from the cracked mug?
Did you eat two shredded wheat?

Did you shave, or not shave
(whichever works this season)?
Did you clean your teeth left-handed?

Did you pick the right shirt,
the ’98 away one with
the cigarette burn on the sleeve?

Did you get the number 8
and sit upstairs, five rows back?
Did you walk the long way to the ground?

Did you get your dinner at
the chippy by the bridge, and
your programme from the double denim guy?

Did your lift your right foot
when the teams ran out, and
untie your lace before the second half?

Are you – and this is the most important –
wearing your lucky pants?

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A Quiet Game of Football

I’ve heard commentators say it was the game of the century
That it was the greatest there was in our living memory
“It would only be fair if both sides could win”
Was heard in the grandstands above the din
And at the end of the day with such a close result
It could never be said that game was dull

When it’s four nil at halftime and the crowd’s gone home
And the team getting thumped have got Stockholm Syndrome
The pundits will say football won on the day
And we’re lucky to see such powerful play.
While I listlessly stare at a circling seagull
I never heard it said once that the game was dull

When the referee constantly stops the play
And both teams appear to be in disarray
All the crowd can do is mumble and groan
And your team scarf hangs like a heavy millstone
Even though some games are just one big lull
You won’t hear it said that the game was dull

As one of the players succumbs to an injury
And you wish all the rest would be put out of their misery
Cos it’s slow and its sloppy and they’re not even rivals
Because neither team can even get into the finals
The commentary is loud and they’re hotly debating
In a desperate attempt to hold on to some ratings
Can’t you get it into your thick skull
You will never hear it said that a game is dull.

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Touchline Shouting

Touchline shouting, that’s all I ever hear,
I’m so confused and filled with fear.
I’m only ten years old and football should be fun,
But with all this noise I don’t know which way to run.
“Get back in defence!” my manager shouts.
Dad shouts, “Get up front and deal with these louts!”
Loud mouth supporter, who knows all the rules.
(He takes the rest of us for fools)
Shouts, “What are you doing lad? Your head’s in a spin!”
Is it any surprise, with all this din?

I am only a boy, so why do you all try to destroy, what I’d love to enjoy?

FOOTBALL SHOULD BE FUN!

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© Simon Icke

 

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Trav’lling Fans

give it up for trav’lling fans
endless trips across the land
sussing out the cheapest ways
midweek games or Saturdays
turning up in wind and rain
through ther heartaches and the pain
stuck in queues on motorways
this is how they spend their days
all the hassles that they face
soaking wet all stood in place
trav’lling fans know what it means
to support the club and team

getting up at break of dawn
journeys long through gales and storms
getting there but all alone
finding out the game’s postponed
searching for a bite to eat
standing up or in your seat
always there through thick and thin
that elation when you win
taking rough times with the smooth
devastation when you lose
you can see them ev’ry time
in their scarves and shirts so fine
sometimes they’re the loudest ones
sometimes they are just outsung
but to those who only go
to the games we play at home
trav’lling fans will always be
key to football’s family

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Season 2019/2020 – Missing Presumed Lost

Days stretched into weeks
No football, at all
Football is just a game, say those who don’t get it
To us, it’s all we’ve ever known
the centre of everything we’ve planned
Friendlies, cup, home and away,
Life on the calender was H A AHA HAA – not laughing any more
it’s all H H H H H H H H H home home home
no win situation, no draw
just loss (no change there then Norwich City fans)
Stay home – easy when we’ve got live football on TV – but now?

It’s a contact sport, being a football fan
We know each other, every child, woman and man
Some fans, we know by name
Others are ‘the man on the end of the row’ (yeah, catchy)
or the bloke who sits behind Peter
but now they’re all absent friends

The people you used to work with
The one you talk Only Connect with
Old neighbours you sometimes bump into
Not-quite-strangers give you a nod, or a wave
Others you look out for, to give them space to cross your path
With their age, their crutches or frame
It’s football – of course they still came

The one with a glowering, granite face who taunts the ref
But when we score it’s like dawn breaking
Beaming, he hugs two rows, but, first, his dad

People from down our road
fellow sardines on the 1.15pm train
Those we went to school with
the ones who share our load
Good to see you, all right mate
How’s the missus, take care
People no longer here, in this life
Still always in the crowd

Yeah, course we’re all hooligans to some
But there’s only love here, never hate
People of all shirts, giving banter, taking bait
It’s all been snatched away till we don’t know when
Who knows what next, some we’ll never see again

Its changed us for ever, this vicious virus
Our lives have changed, and yeah it is only football, but I miss it
To end, I’m mangling words from Billy Ray Cyrus
It broke my heart, my achy-breaky heart
And I just think you fans will understand.

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red or blue?

I have blood that boils
with every contentious decision
I have blood that freezes
when I need net-busting precision
I have blood that curdles
with every demeaning debacle
I have blood that spills
with many a decisive tackle

so see this blood of mine?
it runs royal-blue through my veins
and aye, ‘twas ever thus
since the onset of my mother’s labour pains!

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Ray Wilkins 1956 – 2018

At the tender age of eighteen
Stamford Bridge he made his mark
The boy did ‘dangerously well’
A class act on and off the park

Deft touches and radar passes
Is how we’ll celebrate Ray
That lob and chip against Belgique
Elegant and masterful play

An FA Cup final curler
Ray rocked the mic at Wembley
He valued the small people
The cleaner, the fan, the trainee

Old Firm stunner for that Ibrox hero
Today he’d be England’s Pirlo
Leggenda Rossonera
Ciao Ray from the San Siro

number7
©emdad rahman

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Source: https://footballpoets.org/news/poem-tags/fans/