Howay the lad

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 It may be just a pre-season friendly,
he’s the wrong side of thirty; I still
get the same joy watching him play.
Diehard tackles, rampaging forward,
exhorting teammates, lusting for goals.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 I’m double his age, not in his league.
At half-time he’s subbed for a while.
Jack says at thirty-two he’s lost some pace,
matters more at centre-back
than in midfield: You just need stamina there.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 A year ago he moved up here,
outsider unsure of getting
in the local team. A year on
he’s given teaching the red card,
exhausted by rule changes,

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 but still chosen by the manager.
I love the touchline accents,
the odd howay, lad. Afterwards
the players take down the goalposts
and, like fishermen, gather in the nets.

Source: https://footballpoets.org/poems/howay-the-lad/