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Afterthoughts - Part 5 Final
Contributed by
eleven7
on
Monday, 10th September 2012 @ 05:43:46 PM in AEST
Topic:
oops
|
yes, well . . . if you suppose so
most wise and witty seer
who likes to watch each soccer show
swilling pints of beer . . .
our sweet f a would like to spread
jam and joy for all
in fact their plans are fancy led
the charms of wealth enthral
it’s a mission, a vocation
a league of milk and honey
they discharge an obligation
dispensing mints of money
it’s the way that things pan out
you’re earning more than crumbs
but if you get the chance, no doubt
you plump for juicy plums
money-spinning euro ties
huge fees from live tv
and a million pubs beneath the skies
all pay a nightly fee
guaranteeing heaving bars
dense with raucous boozers
viewing soccer’s superstars
the whiz kids and the bruisers
listen, i really have to hurry
time is flying past
and my wife is in a flurry
panic-stricken and aghast
that i’m scheming something terrible
early on in june
something i can’t tell her till
next friday afternoon
when our tickets are collected
and the bookings and the bus
she’ll go bonkers as expected
and babble on delirious
damn the lot of us to hell
howl that we’re cuckoo
we deserve a padded cell
it’s africa anew
despite the daily agony
of the last two years
the national disharmony
the traumas and the tears!
why do you need to pick up speed
to write this feeble stuff!
it’s trivial, you must concede
a mere household huff
it’s nothing of the bloody kind
i’ve spent two wretched years
trying to adjust my mind
allay suspicious fears
as to the richness of the jam
and the measure of the joy
do we applaud this selfish scam
this unenglish ploy?
you’ll mind the premier kicked off
in 1992
all of a sudden we were toff
as if born anew
we’d been static, out of touch
dreary matches week by week
but much too proud to ask the dutch
to teach us their technique
since the early seventies
holland’s game had thrived
they’d sought no help from overseas
yet cleverly contrived
a dynamic football model
of teamwork, grit and graft
meshed with natural flair and skill
by coaches who would craft . . .
a system dizzily bizarre
a cockeyed affectation?
no, not so! it’s still by far
our biggest fascination
barca play it, so do spain
i’ve watched them, man and boy
they educate, they entertain
they fill you full of joy
they aren’t there just for the jam
but to compete dingdong
you feel they wouldn’t give a damn
they’d play the whole day long
for a poke of peanuts
if they got the call
unlike our wealthy local mutts
who will not kick a ball
until they know precisely
what the bonus is today
tucked away so nicely
in a bank beyond the bay . . .
the world cup final, twenty-ten
had minutes still to go
nil-nil the score and that was when
they nearly stole the show
the dutch, i mean! they might have won
but missed an easy chance
so a great injustice wasn’t done
they didn’t kill romance
and spain then scored the winning goal
and johan cruyff relaxed
though total football’s heart and soul
had been severely taxed
by the anti-football style
of his former team
dirty, ugly, vulgar, vile
became his post-match theme
their hard and ugly tackles
straight from the kick-off
raised his stylish hackles
made him slate and scoff
at tactics gross and grinding
not the gospel of michel
spain, though, weren’t minding
they managed very well
with basic skills like ball control
and nimble shifts of pace
essential to the subtle role
of improvising space
with a one or two-touch pass
ever-running off the ball
covering each blade of grass
before the interval!
you told us this stuff long ago
when your song was young
and tales of wonder, tales of woe
tripped easy from your tongue
so why a second helping
of the holland role
and your usual yelping
about their ball control?
well, i have a public reason
and a personal one too
it’s been announced next season
there’s a coaching complex due
in the greater london zone
campuses already built
perhaps a gesture to atone
for a sense of guilt
which infects fans everywhere
since we can’t survive
when this season in the premier
the average was five
players who were english born
in the first eleven
which rests our case, far-gone, forlorn
from patriotic heaven
now prick your ears! concentrate!
take this little test:
when fifa picked the twenty-eight
they rated world-cup best
how many were from england?
none! well done, it’s true
how many wore the premier brand?
none! full marks to you
i’ll tell you a solution
to our football poverty
despite the mad transfusion
of billions from tv
we english speak incessantly
about italy and spain
and germany and france maybe
but how do we explain
how do we rouse and rally
our relations with the dutch
is it maybe jealousy
that they’ve achieved so much?
soon they’ve got these giants
ajax, feyenoord, psv
soon, too, a queue of clients
liking what they see
bidding for any surplus stock
from their academies . . .
the soccer scene gets quite a shock
in the early seventies
when the first batches
of graduates appear
and folk crowd into matches
for something’s happening here
something wonderful to watch
football full of joy
supplied with elegant dispatch
adept at every ploy
and does it stutter to a stop
a frequent on-field thing
when fat cat clients come to shop
on a lavish fling?
no, fresh talent promptly flows
from the production line
fully-fashioned fellows
who fit the grand design
of michel’s exacting coaches
and well know what to do
familiar with approaches
we english never knew
but now there’s one thing we know well
dutch coaches are the best
year on year they excel
so it’s in our interest
to compel the moneymen
who manage our fat kitty
to get their chequebook and a pen
and emulate man city
shell out millions week by week
a trick that should suffice
choosing the pure greed technique
is cheap at half the price!
if we can tempt some maestro guys
to come across the sea
and help our teachers galvanise
a champion policy . . .
sometimes, pal, you seem naive
wet behind the ears
not all folk, would you believe
are football profiteers
many staff do no careering
they’re happy where they are
except on friday nights appearing
in their local bar
your idea is a goner
no offers will be made
dutch and anglo-saxon honour
can’t be overplayed!
now why didn’t we undertake
this idea before
when our big new league began to make
millions more and more
and why didn’t they invest
in our own young blood at play
were the f a’s fat profits best
spend on foreign pay?
youthful excellence from abroad
was freely bought and sold
and once the bosses gave the nod
silver turned to gold
as they did complicated sums
then multiplied by ten
to figure out the incomes
of these elite young men
who needs big costly complexes
when you’ve got premier cash!
and which do-gooder flexes
his morals for a clash!
the premier was exciting
high-powered at all times
humdingers kept delighting
fresh air from distant climes
and don’t forget to mention
high-quality provision
which got powerful attention
from the world of television . . .
they did not spend their gains and means
nor scupper their resources
on english youth doing tough routines
through long and complex courses
the decision brought upheaval
to many youthful lives
it sowed the seeds of evil
and still it spawns and thrives
were they supine under pressure
from premier interests
or were their reasons simon-pure . . .
well, there the matter rests
ach, to hell with greed and money
why not some chits of joy!
certain days were always sunny
when i was a little boy
ecstasy! euphoria!
my team, a c milan
channel four, serie a
watching with my gran
on sundays in september
in the afternoon
continuing, i remember
until early june
both of us were football crazy
oldie, teeny-weeny
bedazzled by baresi
donadani and maldini
but she reserved her chief regard
to three with the goalden touch
van berten, gullit, rijkaerd
real supermen – and dutch
when any of the three would score
as they often did
she’d whoop and waltz around the floor
like a dizzy kid
oops, the dutch again! i prate
i should be more discreet
but if you wish to speculate
they’re the ones to beat
put every fiver you can spare
on a sweet and stroppy side
which contrives foul play and flair
and parades excessive pride
yet they also play the total style
that’s made dutch football great
followers travel many a mile
and much appreciate
the wizardry that . . . by the by
i’m useless at foreseeing
perhaps holland versus germany
not easy refereeing!
england? their manager is new
and he’s a native son
his appointment recently came through
which means it can’t be fun
moulding, motivating the squad
in four weeks of less
not much joy there! the f a’s mad
good luck, roy and good bless
he’ll already know the riddle
regarding gifted players
lads of talent, front and middle
yet skivers too and strayers
no, not their fault, he’ll be aware
since they were never taught
it was a dastardly affair
to sell their team-mates short
high-flying trainees at the time
were wrapped in cotton wool
some gymnastic drills were prime
five-mile runs and sprints were cool
where, though, was the craft and guile
the thoughtful use of space
the subtle, sly manoeuvre while
you raised or dropped the pace?
where non-stop participation
concentration more and more
ninety minutes’ application
team effort back and fore?
it’s loyalty and duty
and no snotty quibbles
you focus absolutely
refrain from selfish dribbles
the leading premier sides of course
hide these fits and starts
they field a largely foreign force
that finds it in their hearts
to disguise such deviations
with kindly little shifts
no niggling aggravations
and soon the weather lifts . . .
in internationals, some say
they’re playing the same game
millionaires on holiday
traitors without shame!
however wise the management
however fine they tune it
the team won’t fathom what is meant
by a stylish balanced unit
much of the above, please note
relates to the recent past
roy, please prescribe the antidote
release us at long last
from the awful festering shock
the ungodly ignominy
our football’s now a laughing stock
a money comedy!
listen, you go on and on
about this creature wealth
as if it were some demon
threatening our health
you’re getting very boring
really wearisome
look! some of them are snoring
some are dazed and dumb!
you mentioned, mind, that you would end
on cheerful bits and pieces
you’d neither pamper nor pretend
no phoney artifices
you also said . . . yes, yes i know
i’d tell you joyous tales
the trouble is i’ve got to go
tomorrow the ferry sails
and i’ve got lots of thing to do
like wine and dine the wife
and promise i won’t loose a screw
but lead a normal life
if we show no improvement
on and off the pitch
we must have pace and movement
team togetherness which . . .
typical! i’m in a whirl!
where was i? yes, here’s two
exotic scenes to tickle you till
our pilgrimage is through
when i shall tell you twenty more
if i’m still fit and able
they’ll not annoy and they’ll restore
joy to our corner table
first, a portly chappie
is prancing off a bench
leaping, dancing, wildly happy
and nothing’s going to quench
his triumph as he runs the line
euphoria in his eyes
no fantasy! it’s genuine
he’s lifting messi to the skies!
i’ll let you figure that one out
a world cup incident
the second is a speech devout
from a foreign gent
it’s neither haughty nor defiant
original, you’ll agree
delivered by a chelsea giant
in two minutes on tv . . .
Copyright ©
eleven7
... [
2012-09-10 17:43:46]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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