Football goes into hiding

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 2 So what’s next on the itinerary
For the Premier League
Yes of course
A welcome break
Besides Saudi deserts
Or Manchester City’s
Oil fields of
Superabundant cash
Millions of lifestyles
Bathed in the luxuriant
Glow of billionaire
Sports washing in the
Dirty laundries of
Fiddling the books
But surely football
Is vastly above
The acrid stench of corruption
Those filthy sewers of
Villainy and venality
Football is now resting
Its weary limbs
After those taxing
Assignments of hard
Earned victories
And devastating defeats
Particularly when you
Hit rock bottom
Of the Premier League
Where everything is cold
And forbidding
Nobody wants to know you
But this weekend
All is quietness and
Singularly without incident
Silence falls across the affluent
Country mansions
Of the Emirates, the stately
Piles of the Etihad,
The towering giants
Of Old Trafford
So far, so appallingly
Misshapen, spineless
At times
United haunted
By the indefinable
While Spurs are
Cooking away
Quite happily
Among the leaders
And potentially good
Enough to win
But flatter to deceive
Which could lead to
Their ultimate downfall
Meanwhile in the British
Cafes, bars and clubs
Of Spanish winter sunshine
Guardiola, Arteta, Klopp,
Postecoglou refreshing
Appetites for battles
That lie ahead
Flapping their pool towels
On sun kissed loungers
85 degrees in the shade
If only you could be there
But we’re half way through
The season and none of you
Looked shattered and exhausted
Dark glasses tilted over
Sun factor 45 eyes
Bring the boys
Much needed pina coladas
And cocktails for Klopp,
Diaz, Curtis Jones, Trent
Alexander Arnold
Are all in desperate
Need of champagne by
The bucket load
Ed Sheeran, Adele,
Elbow, Coldplay
In their discerning ears
A thousand I Phones
At their disposal
Spoilt but certainly not
Since they are the ones
Who bring home the trophies
And silverware to the
Lads with their football mags
Tattoos on torsos
Ink but in the pink
Frequently visiting social
Media throughout the day
While spending merriment
Mirth and malarkey
Laughter roaring
Out of the hotel
Windows on their world
Sun beds raucous with
Boisterous banter
The playground balconies
Of Benidorm
Pranksters and jokers
One and all, from the
Algarve, Florida,
Bahamas and Barbados
Like well rewarded princes
Or sultans on bejewelled
Beaches, pottering
Around with that air
Of privilege and entitlement
We can hardly imagine
Jurgen and Mikel,
Blissfully soaking up the rays
Oblivious to gallows humour
Back at home
Cocktails tinkling resonantly
Around the ice cubes
Of innumerable Bacardis
Then it’s off to the hotel
Banqueting suite
Where therapeutic salads,
Spanish siestas at the height
Of the day
Relax football
Easy living and
Jurgen helps himself to
Moreish and addictive plates
Of paella and mouth watering
Glasses of sangria or Spanish rose
While the sun plays Hop Scotch
Across bronzed bodies
Warm weather training
Now that simply doesn’t make any sense
Since this is not hard work
And besides how hard can it be
To pick up cans of Coca Cola?
Red Bulls by a lorry load
Consignment of
Healthy, invigorating
Energy drinks
Anybody for Carabao?
This week the Carabao
Cup cuts through the
White noise of drink,
Drinking again but this
Time in moderation
Or days of wine and roses
Wines of a thousand varieties
Meanwhile Arsenal, Liverpool,
Manchester City and Spurs
Lead the way in the second week
Of January
Surely in need of recharging
Batteries of rehabilitation
Does anybody fancy
The frivolities of diving
And splashing around
The twinkling blue of
Swimming pools now surrounded
By pampered egos
Oh that’s an outrageous
Slur on their character
But now it’s time to catch
Up with the Kindle generation
21st century paper backs
No longer under the pressure
Just increased leisure
Without measure
The latest thriller by Lee Child,
James Patterson or up and coming
Literature at its finest
Most enthralling, unputdownable
With incessant folding of every page
In case they forget the narrative
Of today’s reality celebrity convention
Waiter we’ll have the most chilled of
But strictly non alcoholic
By mid day
The Premier League stops for just
A while, a week or two
Recovery from heated debates
Of offsides by the nose, toe,
Just a tantalising glimpse
Of an unfortunate elbow
That bore no resemblance of a penalty
VAR. You have to be joking
This weekend football
Takes a breather
Midway through the chapters
Of football’s never ending
Ebbs and flows
Pages packed with intrigue
Gripping plot lines
Yet to be resolved
Destined for Netflix
Mini series
Or the documentary of
Their lives
Oh life is just one
Holiday and jolly,
Roistering party
For the Premier League
Exemplary role models
They can never put a foot wrong
Let them put their feet up
It’s fully deserved
And above reproach
Never criticise them
They are your icons
And heroic entertainers
But soon it’ll return
Fitter and stronger
Than ever
The Premier League
Unscathed, the business
End of season
It will be good for you
Rest assured


It’s not an international break this weekend but nothing this weekend. Spot your Premier League manager or player on a sun kissed beach.

Source: https://footballpoets.org/poems/football-goes-into-hiding/