Football Poets

Stand In.

Captain hollered, “Kev!
Fella’s hurted his leg*
Need you to take his place, and go in goal”?
Pulling on the goalies top,
A hurried sign of the cross
I ran out with the chaps to face our foe.

Battered, bruised, we sweated blood
On a field of energy sapping mud
Battling hard to fight the fight as one
Bouts of fisticuffs tis true
Desperate tactics rarely used
One man down, in fear of being over-run?

Sly kicks at a fella’s shin
A crafty head-butt to the chin
Retribution for their crocking our poor goalie
Eventually evening that score
One or two let out a roar
To a knelt knee in a place considered holy?

You could say the game was fraught
With the fracas being fought
Well at odds with sportsmanship and fair play?
Your man on the touch-line crying
Our chance of victory subsiding
Spurred mere kids to gladiators primed to fray.

Times your enemy, dog tired
Every shot at me they fired
Seemed to knock me down, hit the woodwork, or plain miss
A couple I managed to save on purpose
Left me winded, bruised and curious…
Enough to scold myself, I didn’t… bleating volunteer for this?

The long and short of it…a draw
and the ear shattering furore,
At the whistle, a moment rare amongst our lot
Sinking exhausted to the soil,
Bruised brown from our toil
To overcome the odds, dishing out as we had got.

There weren’t no winners, cups, a medal
Climbing high upon a pedestal
Acknowledging a wonderful victory or ones dream
Despite being dropped in the excrement together
We made light of heavy weather
Clichés, yet apt in summing up…our team.

A Clapham Common bus-stop
On a morning ne’er to be forgot
I lit a thrupenny loose, and puffed contentedly away
At what? Maybe nine-ten years of age?
I came to realize that day, gazing on the Elysian (LCC) fields of play…*
If your keepers crocked, let some other stupid eejit take his place.

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