Whatever Floats Yer Boat.

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 A quilted smoking jacket,
An ancient chair by fire
With the dogs asleep beneath ones feet
Is the peak of some’s desire.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 P’haps a sultry Oval afternoon
Where stout fieldsman plead ‘Howzat?’
As gamblers prior to the play know score
Or indeed no ball’s, long before the start of match!

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 Or morning tea and toast, scanning “Racing Post”
On a quest for winning nags
In faint hope long odds outsider
Lands a gamble that you’ve had.

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Then there’s those of us what spring to life
As a ball takes that first roll
Along the half way line as a whistle blows
Ensuring at least for ninety minutes? Life’s adversity takes a hike!


With the way our World is at the moment, ninety minutes wherever or whenever a game (indeed any game) is played (last Friday night as was in Ingerlands case) is still, for me at least, the greatest way to just..switch off and cease worrying about all that other stuff going on, that I can do nothing to change.



Source: https://footballpoets.org/poems/whatever-floats-yer-boat/