Football Poets

Commentators galore

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Now where would football be
Without commentators?
High pitched, falsetto,
Pizzicato or contralto
Or just like a gentle stream
On a day of measured words
Serenely gliding towards
The safe harbour of full time
Firstly, there was Brian Moore
The personification of
Verbal accuracy
Always poised and On the Ball
A giant among his
Admiring colleagues
On the TV gantry
Always available after
The Sunday roast
When chickens in baskets
Gave us our daily menu
Of the Big Match
Football’s most
Honourable gentleman
Among equals
Brian Moore,
Smooth as a lake
In high summer
Professionalism to his
Fingertips, nothing
But the best
By his own admission
Excitable as a kid
On Christmas Day
When the Big Match was
Still young but virile
But then delivering
The arts and crafts
Of the game’s finest fabrics
A voice modulated,
Always striking the right balance
A voice oiled with honesty
Perfect impartiality
Then there was Gerry Harrison
Comfortable among the fens
And sprawling farmlands of
Ipswich Town and Norwich
But privately a Hammer
Non judgmental and perfectly
Judicious, weighing every word,
Goal and pass and tackle
Rather like the man
Behind the cheese counter
At Sainsbury’s during its
1960s pomp
There was Hugh Johns
Delighting in the moment
Of that goal bulging glory
When Wolves and Villa were
Were middle of the road
In the old First Division,
School boy enthusiasm,
Hugh always knew
When John Richards or Ray Graydon
Were dictating the
Tempo, tenor, grace and
Pace of a game
Shrewd and knowledgeable
Streetwise at all times
But then shrieking with
The sheer elation of a man
Who would have given anything
To wear the old gold or claret and blue
Then there was Gerald Sinstadt
Throat rising to a stirring crescendo
Power and authority
In the lands of Everton, Manchester City
And United, Granada TV’s greatest
Then there was
Martin Tyler, still an icon
Behind the Sky microphone,
Wisdom and assurance when it mattered most
And still in control
But never over egging the pudding
The man who once delivered City’s
First Premier League coronation
And Aguero was bellowed
With operatic conviction
Sustained grandiosely
Boy, could he hold a note
You could hear the Tyler tonsils
In the Peak District
Who could ever forget?
Of course there was Motty
John Motson, how we miss him
The man who must have known
Every statistic and fact
The game has ever known
Stating the obvious
But quietly and modestly
Conveying the game’s
Most picturesque beauty
The sheepskin coat
Beyond compare
Mannered and polite
With the coolness of a
Cucumber, a studied detachment
From the hurly and burly
Muddied but marvellous
Madness that embraced
The Beautiful Game
But how we loved Motty
Joined forces with
Barry Davies, like
A learned college lecturer
Playing with words and then
Moulding them like clay
Very interesting Franny Lee
Impeccable phraseology
Precise as the stopwatch
And lest we forget
Today’s Sam Matterface,
Clive Tyldesley, Guy Mowbray
Jonathan Pearce and Steve Wilson
Totally absorbed in the game’s
Most creative coal faces
Dipping deep into their Thesaurus
Words, analogies and similes
Metaphors of perfect creation
Describing the game’s frantic
Fandangos with charm, wit,
Humour, that’s a must
Of course caressing the
Game’s sensitivities and subtleties
A hint of bias at times
Surely not though
As if football was something
To be treasured
Something for the leisured classes
Football commentators hey
Aren’t they outstanding?
Past and present
They speak on our behalf

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