Called off

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 one-on-ones were going awry,
sliding tackles – just plain gory.
I clung to the crossbar, afraid of drowning,
the coach stood still, passive, frowning.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 The rain lashed down, it was no joke,
we was receiving quite a soak.
Blind like Wenger, blinder than David James,
just like the “cold winter months” games.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 It’s impossible trying to train,
being flung backwards by wind and rain
in our over-sized goals I kept my clean sheet
but everyone had to concede defeat.

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Peppered with astro turf,
I go home,
with sponges of gloves,
and a swimming pool in each boot.

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 The rain stops,
the wind subsides,
but training is off,
we’ve been taken for a ride.



god has no sense of humour, obvious really on the way he let united go back ahead of the league on GD, losing the premiership on GD is the equivalent of losing the FA champions league carling cup on penalties.

Source: https://footballpoets.org/poems/called-off-3/