Football Poets

Who would be a referee?

Referees hey
Unenviable task
The man in black
Or now in red, purple,
Orange, green, yellow
Polka dots, blue
Figure of authority
In authoritarian times
Official and loathed
Despised by the majority
Lampooned by those in the
Know, totally incapable
Always wrong
Never in the right
Flawed, misunderstood
Yesterday at the Bridge
Andrew Madley
Accused of myopia
Incompetence and bias
Perhaps
Surely not from Kensington
According to the claret and blue
Hordes of West Ham United
Chelsea trail to the East End
Brothers in arms
Then Chilwell arrives from the
Back like an impostor
To equalise thankfully
For the Chelsea whippersnappers
Then chaos, bedlam, complete
Pandemonium, moments
Of late summer madness
Harvertz thumps home
The Blues ultimate statement
Of intent, a winner
Over their London neighbours
Hostile as the enemy incarnate
And then
Thunder and lightning
Electricity and transformation
Maxwel Cornet, West Ham’s
Summer sales bargain
Drives the ball home
For second equaliser
But then is drowned out
By the sullen anti climax
Hollow groans of shock,
Amazement, no goal
Andrew Madley, the
Ref with no heft
Gives the goal but
Then pangs of conscience
Infiltrate his guilt and soul
Mendy, the Chelsea keeper
Crashes into the claret and
Blue of Bowen and Mendy
Launches into agonised
Clutching of chest
Call for the paramedic
Get up man, you’re a
Hypochondriac
Malingering Mendy
But Madley falls for
The stunning act of suffering
It’s a foul and Chelsea triumph
Criminal injustice for the Hammers
Perhaps
Your heart though bleeds for Michael
Salisbury at Newcastle against Palace
Simon Hooper- Villa and Manchester City
Anthony Taylor at the Merseyside Derby
John Brooks at Molineux
Vilified, persecuted, shamed
Who would be that moral arbiter
Called VAR
What is the definition of a foul?
Interpretations differ
That pitch -side monitor
Is a 1984 re-incarnation
Orwellian surveillance system
Closed circuit contraption
Watching the Premier League
With Hawkeye vigilance
And then there was Mike Dean,
Kevin Friend, Andre Marriner
And Martin Atkinson, when will
It ever end?
In the old days referees had
Wisdom and respect
In their back pocket
There was Clive Thomas
Hilarious and glorious
Humorous but ruthless
Hard as nails though
Once pointing to the tunnel
In World Cup contest
Game over
But Brazilian tempers
Boiling over like
Molten lava
Apparently, the samba
Sorcerers win from
A corner against Sweden
But then Thomas marches
Towards the full- time tunnel
Unapologetic, no nonsense
As were Pat Partridge, Keith
Hackett, Gordon Hill, Arthur
Ellis from football’s golden
Age when players were
Satisfied with their living
Wage, no hint of materialism
Then
But spare a thought for the
Referee, the besieged and
Beleaguered, insulted ones
Obscenities raining down
From the terraces with the
Force of a tropical monsoon
Never correct, never a penalty
Judgments and decisions just
All at sea, yellow and red cards
An appalling show
But in the eyes of the fans
Absolutely hopeless
Did he really see that one
As well?
Who would be a referee?
Certainly not us

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Ref Botherers

Some folks are their God botherers
Others bother hubby or the wife
Some folks bother no – body
They can’t be bothered much with life.

Football also has its botherers
They call a person baldy, blind or deaf
These callous insults are directed
At our dear old friend the Ref.
He’s accused of not knowing handball rules
Or what constitutes offside
And when he can’t make up his muddled mind
He allows the Var man to decide.

Fans bother the ref for penalties
Saying their player had never dived
Swearing on their mammy’s lives
His graceless fall, was not contrived.
Others question if he has a father
And many other insults bellow
Then scream and moan and bother him
To give the oppo player a yellow.

Off-Off-Off!! Is another cry
The ref botherer often uses
And, “where’s your bloody glasses ref? ”
Is amongst another of abuses.
Players point towards their wrists
And to be injured do pretend
And Fergie was notorious
For telling the ref
When the match should end.

Jose and Arsene liked to bother
As did Bremner and Roy Keane
But refs were never bothered
By the likes of Cloughie or Jock Stein

So to all you reffing botherers
Who give our friend in black a booing
Give the poor old ref a break
Even though, “He Don’t Know What He’s Doin.”

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