Football Poets

A Fine Bromance.

Picture The Scene. Sloane Street. London. 10-52…

An empty sherbet, flagged down by a bald good-looking bloke,
Says, clearly desperate to get his derriere up and on the go,
“Driver, please take me to The Chelsea Arts Club a.s.a.p.
and could you do so on the hurry-up, before closing, please?”,

This is very much mission-far-from impossible in the cabby’s eyes
The Arts Club being no more than half a mile as the pigeon flies’
Said cabby instantly recognises Luca Vialli, as his fare sat in the back
Chelsea footballer, South West London icon, amore o’ the chaps.

For the first time in 33 years of driving around London streets
The cabby finds himself a gibbering star-struck eejit telling Mr V
How much he loves him, as his sherbet’s haring down the road
Reminiscing on the previous season’s, stunning Old Trafford goal.

Pulling up outside The Arts Club, B.A jumps out of his seat
Opens the passenger door for Luca, a rare if ever cabby feat
Refusing the jacks showing on the clock, is this a joke or what?
“Overcome by the emotion of the moment son?”, B.A later scoffs.

Despite closing time approaching, without taking time to blink
Vialli Thanks and hugs B.A, then disappears to grab a tiddly wink
Leaving B.A star-stuck on the pavement, loving his amore even more
Leaning shell-shocked against his sherbet, jaw down on the floor.

All of which beyond all doubt shows the class and quality of The Man
Fun loving, living life to the full, but taking time out to leave a fan
Especially working people, and this mate o’ mine, feeling like a King
What a mensch, what a life, and what a blinding strike struck in.

Driving starry-eyed, along the Fulham Road, en route to South Ken
A poignant Old Trafford memory, as if on cue comes purring back again…
“When that ball hit the deck, in the back o’ The Old Trafford net
On a night, none of us Blues will ever forget…That’s Vialli”.

Pace.

Be the first to leave a comment »