Football Poets

Goodnight Vienna

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Big lad, big heart, Stockport born and bred,
A United fan in scarlet red.
Though Edgeley Park still knew his face,
For County too, he’d find a place.

¶ 2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 David Hazelhurst? That’s what it said.
But “Nutter” was the name that spread.
One of a kind, a proper gent,
The sort God smiles at when he’s sent.

¶ 3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 Away days came with laughs galore,
And somehow trouble found him more.
He never went looking, that much is true,
But trouble would often say, “Found you!”

¶ 4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 He loved his grub, he loved his clan,
He was a larger-than-life kind of man.
Milky coffee, football chat,
And if you fancied a natter, he was good at that.

¶ 5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 Disappear for months? Oh yes, he could.
Then turn up smiling, just as he should.
No explanation, no excuse to spin,
Just, “Alright, Darling!” and that cheeky grin.

¶ 6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 He spoke more languages than Google Translate,
Though none would ever call him great.
“Ciao!”, “Adios!”, “Cheers, Mucker!” too,
Whatever the country, he’d muddle it through.

¶ 7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 The chapel was packed, and rightly so,
For a man who’d lit up every row.
The stories flowed, the tears appeared,
For a man so loved, respected and revered.

¶ 8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 His princess’s words, read by his son,
Reminded us all of the life he’d won.
Not measured in money or things he’d own,
But by every heart he’d made his home.

¶ 9 Leave a comment on verse 9 0 The turnout said what words can’t do,
Just how much we all loved you.
A one-off character, impossible to clone,
The sort of bloke who is remembered as ‘one of our own’.

¶ 10 Leave a comment on verse 10 0 So here’s to the laughs, the football and cheer,
The milky coffees and mates held dear.
The world’s a little quieter now you’ve gone away,
But we’ll all smile when your stories come into play.

¶ 11 Leave a comment on verse 11 0 Until we meet again, somewhere under football’s floodlit sky,
Where the pints are cold and the offside flag is always a lie.
Sleep well, big lad, you’ve earned your rest.
Goodnight Vienna, you always said it best…

8