The Draw For the Third Round

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 It’s that time of year when all the landscape
Looks like a Thomas Bewick woodcut,
No more November mediocre,
Instead, russet mist and early winter ochre;
Oak trees hanging still onto their leaves,
War memorials with fading poppy wreaths,
And street lamps click off on your walk to work,
While you dream of glory in the FA Cup.
The Third round draw is shortly to be made,
Giants waiting to be ritually slayed,
The rush for tickets, ordering by ‘phone,
To see us beat United and at home,
And thoughts of Christmas start to fill the mind,
Hearing carols in the Church betimes,
Peace, Goodwill and Happiness to all,
As I await this bumper festive draw.
But optimism turns into despair,
The fields are ploughed all deep and damp and bare,
And all the world seems lustreless and grey,
For we have drawn Man City, and away.


Despite the disappointment, isn’t the 3rd. round draw one of the highlights of the season? It’s football’s equivalent of the winter solstice – you know that lengthening days are near at hand.

Source: https://footballpoets.org/poems/the-draw-for-the-third-round/