Football Poets

Jumped Up, Outta The Chair…

Colourful expletives pierced the air
After witnessing a scene said, geezer write…
Reminded of committed halcyon days
A sly dig in the ribs, a clump, affrays
Agin a whizz-kid, HP boots chalk dusted white.

Not exactly blessed with bags o’ pace
Our Dominic put his-self about the place
Pinching, tugging, pulling hair, that sort of thing
Some whizz-kid haring it down the wing
Might stumble and find our Dom atop o’ him
Making out the whizz-kid clipped him on the shin.

I’ve seen two flying fools sent off
Plus, a stiff upper lipped, fleet footed toff
Promise when the game was done, he’d do Dom in
“Is that right Tarq, ain’t looking quite so smug
Go on, do one, take that early bath, you mug
Now it’s us v ten Tarq, who d’you think will win?”.

Then, there’s the full-on quarter-final in the cup
Where, tis fair to say our London-Irish blood was up
After Dominic lost two teeth in a melee by their goal
Mind you the three other kids, looked ten times worse
They had to go find a dentist, a doctor and his nurse
A scene in which Dominic’s big sister played a role.

All these little vignettes I’ve described
I suppose should be let be, or cast aside
As part and parcel of what’s called competitive sport
Said vignettes sat in the dressing-room of my mind
Clearly undisturbed for quite some time
Truth is…I never gave a single one of them a thought.

Until, this whizz-kids toeing it down the wing
Into acres o’pseudo green, partisans screaming at him
The coveted Golden Chalice gleams within their grasp
The Flying Frenchmen doesn’t quite reach his destination
Cos a Moroccan locomotive without a moment’s hesitation
Brings him crashing down on his derrière, a nation gasps.

Odds on a a bone got cracked?
Or The Flying Frenchman’s ankle snapped?
As a deaf bloke, even I heard something give
A quick burst o’ spray, a glug o’ Perrier
Les Bleus lead their talisman on to the field o’play
Shaking hands with a passing Maroc as he did.

No theatricals, idle threats or slurs get caste
A breathtaking memory from a match played in Qatar
Reminds me how the beautiful game has changed its tack
Today, a committed tackle, is as rare as false teeth on a hen
Which explains why, watching this pair o’ fine young men
Get right stuck in, I jumped up, outta the chair taken aback.

Peace.

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