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Flatmates and Football

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 My flatmate is a Manchester City fan,
a man
used to the yin and the yang
whose Pavlovian expectation
is that promotion is inevitably and immediately
followed by relegation.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 I support Tottenham Hotspur
and consequently have
delusions of grandeur,
a belief that the laws of physics
have gone terribly wrong
if we don’t win the Cup
when the year ends in one.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 He and I argue about football a lot.
He believes Steve Howey should play for England.
I do not.

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 The convoluted turns of our heated debates
always lead to the same conclusion:
Ricky Villa.

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 Ricky Villa is my Galapagos Isles,
my proof of evolutionary theory,
a natural order of things
in which Manchester City lose cup finals
that Tottenham win.

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 An unlikely hero. An Argentinian
bearded like George Best, Jesus Christ or Che Guevara*
making a run through the penalty box like a slalom skier,
at improbable angles for a man with the ball.
Even today, when I see replays of that run,
I still can’t believe he’ll actually score.

7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 But, as I remind my flatmate on average twice a month,
the ball always ends up in the back of Joe Corrigan’s goal.
My flatmate is a Manchester City fan.
I am an —-hole.

8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 * the holy trinity of beard-wearers

Source: https://footballpoets.org/poems/flatmates-and-football/