Football Poets

Your first glimpses of football

It had to be Brisbane Road
Circa 1974
Orient as they were then known
In the old Second Division
That East End cockpit of
Fondly held dreams and illusions
On wide, exposed terraces
Where you could almost hear and see
The vast children’s playground
Outside Brisbane Road
The swings and roundabouts of football’s
Liveliest youngsters
On the second floor of the Football League
Where harsh realities lived
In the pragmatic world of hard knocks,
Long balls played into optimistic cul-de-sacs
Thugs and cloggers flourished
Amid the global rose beds of the world
Beautiful Game
Your first tantalising glimpses
Of footballing glory
Orient against Bolton Wanderers
Where we heard the first soundtracks,
Those passionate cries and bellowing yells
From the comfortable
Beds and living rooms
Where we’ve always lived
Your neighbour guided you up the steps
Towards Orient’s educated voices
Who’d always known about
Wartime and hardship
The ones who were always
Well informed on
The lower regions of the game
Where the sadly and dearly beloved but
Breathtaking Laurie Cunningham
Once moved his hips
With all the sensual grace
Of a Turkish belly dancer
Little did we know then
That fate would tragically intervene
But then just out of nappies
Twisting, teasing and tormenting
Body balanced as the trapeze artist
Who always took calculated risks
Cunningham caressed a ball
With perfect intimacy
Back then with John Jackson
In goal, always elastic
Phil Hoadley, Gerry Queen,
For jolly good company
The Os against the Trotters
Grind out ghastly goal-less draw
Bolton just forgettable
Orient marginally better
But you’ll never forget the feel
Of that 5p programme
With notes from George Petchey
The boss, the governor
Manager over all he surveyed
Yet to be introduced to burgers
And onions
Before the main act
But when the world was in its teens
You were as well
On the verge
So enthralled and gripped by
Brisbane Road
That first encounter with
Football’s most glamorous
Furniture
Everything a revelation
Like your first day at school

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Following The O’s.

Just off Brisbane Road
Stands a desirable abode
Micky (The Brickie) built himself, from scratch
Though he had a slight conundrum
Him not hailing from East London
Where to go for a few light ales, and catch a match?

See, Micky hails from Pimlico
Where Old Father Thames doth ebb n flow
A goal-kick down the river-side from Stamford Bridge
So, jumping ship to support The O’s
Caused harsh words, and bitter…whoa’s
Till Micky’s ma steamed in, false-teeth in her fists.

Anyways, I’m down The Lea Bridge Road
Approaching Micky’s highly desirable abode
Thought I’d give our mate a bell, on the dog n bone?
His ma said he’s always in
Doing home improvements, that sort of thing
Though he goes to see The O’s if they’re at home?

A fuzzy, bonjour, bonjour, bonjour
Emanating out of a South West London jaw
Had me looking at my dog in dis-belief,
“Oi mate, who the fluffing heck are you?”,
I screamed aloud as I’m prone to do
Dealing with a low-life dog n bone tea-leaf?

“Bonjour mon ami, it’s Micky
Son, this line is pretty dicky
I’m living on the coast in North West France
Kev, be sure to come over sometime soon
I’ve built another gaff, we’ve loads a room
Blag a Ryan-air, when you’ve half a chance”.

“But, what about the des res off Brisbane Road?
Your new found allegiance to The O’s?
You just can’t walk away from stuff in life like that?”,
“Kev, met this blinding French bird Ann-Marie,
Used to follow PSG, fancied a change, just like me
The pair of us are regulars at our local match.

Son, I know it isn’t quite the same
But, in the bigger scheme of things, what’s a name?
Changing teams again, deems me a turn-coat I suppose?
Here in North West France they may well be
and Brisbane Road, ain’t exactly a short hop to Brittany
Yet F.C Lorient, to the gorgeous Ann-Marie, and me are still The O’s”.

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