Football Poets

Those were the days again.

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 You always knew where you stood
Quite literally
In splendid isolation
But an integral part
Of match day
Surrounded by
A choir of obscenities
Anglo Saxon blue
Roaring across the ether
Football in full bloom
OK then, I’ll say it
Football at 3pm
Saturday set in stone
Part of the concrete and steel
Of football’s routine lives
And yet
No more interruptions and disruptions
For World Cup qualifiers
What we really want is
Weekly ambrosia for the weary soul
A simple thread of continuity
Now then, though
A day sometimes for football to
Make up its mind
We could still be here
Until midnight
Have our boys won or not?
Is it Saturday, Sunday, Monday?
Or quite possibly just after
Breakfast on Monday morning
When most of the nation
Are toiling at the coal face
A game whose outcome
Was in the balance
Because there were seconds to
Go and all we needed was
The winner in extra time
But not now
Just scratching of heads
Because TV screens
Were seeking confirmation of
Goals, legitimate goals
Now it takes an age
Goal or no goal
The burger and hotdog
Fraternity will either
Explode with happiness
Or slump into a morose sulk
Football dithering and dallying
Over offsides, decisions
That seem to take a lifetime
Now the fans are
Left in limbo,
Rather like waiting for the last
Bus home
That never arrived
First the certainties and then the wait
For the referee’s signal
Or that ridiculous
A game of charades
Where the ref draws
A picture of a TV screen
A chaos of imponderables
That frightening delay
In case the ball was over the line
Maybe not
No goal, so officialdom insist
And about time too
It’s one o’clock in the morning
And of course the
Family are fast asleep, but
You’re still cheering or
Just embittered by defeat again
And you’re playing in the
Fifth round of the FA Cup
Football is your medicine and antidote
For everything you’re devoted to
Its irresistible smell
The soundtrack of where
You were, when the League
Was almost won in 1986
Oh if only we’d found
That extra yard of stamina
West Ham, it could have
Been so different
If only Liverpool and Everton
Had taken an early holiday
To the Costa Brava plains
We’d have won the old First Division
By a country mile
League champions
The East End warriors
The best in the land
But now it’s out of our reach
As elusive as the summit
Spare a thought, though
For the likes of Rochdale,
Grimsby, Plymouth and
Accrington Stanley
Exactly, never the
Back page headline makers
Just earning the plaudits
Of their faithful
They’ll probably never
See a trophy in my
Lifetime
Just one long and winding
Sequence of local derbies
Intriguing, the plot thickens
But nothing to please
Our tired eyes
Just the privilege of finishing
12th in League Two.
And the one ambition
Of finishing in mid table
Or just a finger nail
Clear of the relegation zone
Gripping on for dear life
And football goes on
Delightfully,
The seasons always flow

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