Rhyme or reason

[Tony Elsby]

Having nothing better to do at the time, I penned a football poem which my son picked up and blandly said I should have published.

That's really of no interest to me - it was just a fun jotting really - but I as a result of his comments |I ended up wondering if it might do a bit of good.

My question to the fans and the forum organisers is: Could the poem be offered on the site to raise money for the Childrens spending Christmas at Leicester Royal Infirmary or something similar.

For a notional figure (say £5) the poem could be numbered, signed and even personalised as an unframed Christmas present. If 100 copies were ordered it would raise £500 for the kids.

Fans could pick up their copies from a pre-determined site at the grounds if someone were willing to hand them out, thus saving any postage costs and allowing all the monies raised to go to the hospital.

At some stage we could declare the number distributed (even if it is embarrassingly low) and the amount raised. I would obviously retain copyright in case the poem were useful in an anthology or something similar but there would be no further signed limited editions published thus ensuring the subscribers had a unique/personalised item.

Comments would be welcomed on the site or on my e-mail at [email protected].

 

[Joe_Fox]

Where is the poem then?

 

[Tony Elsby]

Where is the poem then?

WAVE OF EMOTION
=============

Fifty thousand fans cheering, and stretching their scarves,
Chanting their anthems and lifting their arms,
In a Mexican wave - was it unstifled joy?
Cos the new lad had scored, he was only a boy...

That the boss saw by chance in a town centre park,
A lightweight, bow-legged, who, just for a lark,
Nutmegged three playmates, then without more ado,
Smashed his shot on a post, broke the stanchion in two.

Soon the game was all over, but not for our boss,
Who ran to his car like a Grand National 'os
And emerged with a pen and a whoe bunch of paper,
"Sign by my crosses, we'll work details out later."

And so it emerged that this 15-year-old lad,
Raced home with his boots and declared to his dad,
"City have signed me. I'm heading for fame"
And the bandy-legged fella was never the same.

With a disarming grin and a real touch of swagger,
The kid began climbing from't foot of the ladder,
And right from the start he gave not two hoots,
For the prospect of cleaning some ageing stars boots.

Cos "nipper" was sure that the world was his pearl,
His freekicks were lethal, such power, such curl,
Like boomerangs they bent. Most shuddered the sack,
Though one spun so far that the damn thing came back!

With skills so precocious he starred every game,
Defenders had nightmares, some went insane,
Subtle plans were devised to combat his threat,
One team played two goalies. They'd need two more yet.


With 50 goal seasons, you could well understand.
How "nipper" was soon picked to play for his land.
And as endless glory was stacked on his plate,
He started to bite off too much of the cake.

As a spotty young kid, ne'er a pound to his name,
He had lifelong school pals to make him stay sane,
But with each extra nought on his pay-packet slip,
Came more girls, and more grabbers all wanting a bit.

And soon he discovered that when injured in play,
There was always a "physio" on whose coach he could lay.
But the massage hands eager to do him such good,
Weren't always the ones that were paid by his club.

And often the "treatment" would last through the night,
And the night after that, though he knew it weren't right.
And soon he was finding, he'd miskick the ball,
Cos his eyes wouldn't focus, wouldn't focus at all.

And he found that the fans, who'd once been so kind,
Were not much impressed by a "star" who'd gone blind,
And the "Mexican wave" proved "farewell my old friend",
Cos the last goals he scored ... were the wrong bloomin end.


Copyright Tony Elsby. November 2004.

 

[SilverFox]

Where is the poem then?

WAVE OF EMOTION
=============

Fifty thousand fans cheering, and stretching their scarves,
Chanting their anthems and lifting their arms,
In a Mexican wave - was it unstifled joy?
Cos the new lad had scored, he was only a boy...

That the boss saw by chance in a town centre park,
A lightweight, bow-legged, who, just for a lark,
Nutmegged three playmates, then without more ado,
Smashed his shot on a post, broke the stanchion in two.

Soon the game was all over, but not for our boss,
Who ran to his car like a Grand National 'os
And emerged with a pen and a whoe bunch of paper,
"Sign by my crosses, we'll work details out later."

And so it emerged that this 15-year-old lad,
Raced home with his boots and declared to his dad,
"City have signed me. I'm heading for fame"
And the bandy-legged fella was never the same.

With a disarming grin and a real touch of swagger,
The kid began climbing from't foot of the ladder,
And right from the start he gave not two hoots,
For the prospect of cleaning some ageing stars boots.

Cos "nipper" was sure that the world was his pearl,
His freekicks were lethal, such power, such curl,
Like boomerangs they bent. Most shuddered the sack,
Though one spun so far that the damn thing came back!

With skills so precocious he starred every game,
Defenders had nightmares, some went insane,
Subtle plans were devised to combat his threat,
One team played two goalies. They'd need two more yet.


With 50 goal seasons, you could well understand.
How "nipper" was soon picked to play for his land.
And as endless glory was stacked on his plate,
He started to bite off too much of the cake.

As a spotty young kid, ne'er a pound to his name,
He had lifelong school pals to make him stay sane,
But with each extra nought on his pay-packet slip,
Came more girls, and more grabbers all wanting a bit.

And soon he discovered that when injured in play,
There was always a "physio" on whose coach he could lay.
But the massage hands eager to do him such good,
Weren't always the ones that were paid by his club.

And often the "treatment" would last through the night,
And the night after that, though he knew it weren't right.
And soon he was finding, he'd miskick the ball,
Cos his eyes wouldn't focus, wouldn't focus at all.

And he found that the fans, who'd once been so kind,
Were not much impressed by a "star" who'd gone blind,
And the "Mexican wave" proved "farewell my old friend",
Cos the last goals he scored ... were the wrong bloomin end.


Copyright Tony Elsby. November 2004.

Brilliant

 

[Scarby]

Fantastic.

Very enjoyable