Thoughts From Behind The Jump*!

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Ten minutes to five on a Saturday
As the regular crowd wander in
I can see etched deep on faces who: weren’t at the races,
Who’s salvaged a draw, nicked a win.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Like zombies en route to the carzy
They square up to bar’s T.V screen
Then wander around like lost sheep in a pound
As if shell-shocked from what they’ve just seen.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 “I’m paying for these” if the team has played well
“What a right load of cobblers” if not
They’ll be down in their cups till ‘last orders’ goes up,
Scoot off home if three points in the pot.

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Or

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 “Barman a round please and have one yerself”
Means the home side have handsomely won
But a crushing defeat, means I’m nameless this week
By “Eight doubles for me and these chumps”

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 Caressing their glasses, the post mortems ask:
“Why was that young keeper picked?
That rampaging left back hell bent on attacking
Should be dropped to the stiffs for next week”.

7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 “How much are we paying our manager?
What?! We could’ve hired a professional for that”
In matter of weeks what was once the bee’s knees
Is suddenly a money grabbing illegitimate chap.

8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 Halcyon days are remembered
When brylcreem and dubbin seemed cool
Match tickets priced at two shillings and six
And when punters weren’t nobody’s fool.

9 Leave a comment on verse 9 0 Brown ale, mild and bitter, Hovis for tea
A brown leather ball, and long shorts (sic)
“When a player earning a score, was pretty well secure*
Without agents or snide Mr Fixits”

10 Leave a comment on verse 10 0 Suddenly a posh voice interrupts the fans whining
Or the jubilant repetitive singing
When Arsenal nil, Fulham two is revealed
There’s a “Barman this next round is on me
What yer’s having? As I’m getting ’em’ in”!



I’ve often wondered what publicans and pub staff think of us punters who come through a hostelry doors post-match, as the mood of the masses is surely all determined by the result…isn’t it?

But then again at five-o-clock, when all the results come up, T.V can change that mood, especially if a local rival has been beaten to boot?

Carefree…braised in Celery.

Go well, be lucky and keep smiling.



*In Cockney slang, The Jump is the bar/counter in a pub, a Score is twenty, or as in the context of my poem: twenty pounds a week.

Source: https://footballpoets.org/poems/thoughts-from-behind-the-jump/