1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 when the jokes, on the park ain’t that funny
what with gruyere stood there in defence
and the whole blimmin lot of em ain’t taken a shot, in anger,
since Moses composed the top ten

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 when some bloke in a suit who thinks he’s so cute
makes signals with hands made of rubber
to an overweight joke and his partner beside him
who look like two boats with no rudders

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 when the keeper is having a ‘mare’ of a game
and the punters shout ‘off with his head’
or maybe me earholes are playing me up
‘off side ref’ is that what they said?

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 when the substitutes run down the touchline
as if chomping, to play, on the bit
then all of a sudden, the minute they’re on
you realize that they are.. unfit

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 when the sending of notes sent to overpaid blokes,
who’s reading matter amounts to page three
‘change of tactics? what? don’t the gaffer like the way,
that me breathe smells? He never said nothing to me’?

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 when the interval comes and yer ripped off in sums
that could make a small country quite flush
the prices we pay for the tired fare of today?
yet we do so, without hint of a fuss

7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 when the toilets resemble a war-zone
and washing facilities are not that much better
a bloke who’d like to find out where the soap is to wash his hands
should carry a neon that reads ‘I’m a leper’

8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 when ‘all bottles are banned’ signs there on the stand
incite anger from punters in queues
yet inside the the ground on the concourse
there’s bottles of drink up for sale, just for… you?

9 Leave a comment on verse 9 0 when the punters are bobbing to i-pods
with eyes closed, away in a trance
the time may have come to head homewards
as front two miss chance after chance

10 Leave a comment on verse 10 0 when a phone conversation takes priority
above all that goes on, out on pitch
it saddens me to say but I’m sorry
all us punters are much, much too rich

11 Leave a comment on verse 11 0 when the drips from the stand up above you
pick your hair to wash through out game
and the drips in the seats sat beside you?
don’t know half of the first teams last names

12 Leave a comment on verse 12 0 when the tea tastes like I don’t know what
and the pure beef hamburgers(sic) resemble cow pats
it’s time to wonder just what it is, you’re doing sat here
every Saturday like me at ‘The Match’

13 Leave a comment on verse 13 0 when you’re ripped off and striped up week after week
when all promised talks of improvement collapse
I’ve this feeling within me, that the powers that be,
Know full well that we’ll pay,…. a long un a pop for ‘The Match’*



* A long un a pop for the match, means in slang, a hundred pounds a ticket.

Which is not that far away, is it?

This poem’s not just about having a go my club, but most of them that I’ve been to, they all seem te same to me, when it comes to looking after the punter, and if they are looking after the punter?

At what cost to… the punter?



Source: https://footballpoets.org/poems/when-2/