Football NOT Soccer - Paul Curtis (english books to improve english .TXT) 📗
- Author: Paul Curtis
Book online «Football NOT Soccer - Paul Curtis (english books to improve english .TXT) 📗». Author Paul Curtis
regroup
Pursued by packs
Of blue clad animals
In the mêlée
A lone officer, a tail ender
Already wounded by a bottle
Stumbled and fell before his pursuers
They quickly surrounded him
And kicks rained in on him
But amidst this madness, this carnage
A rangers fan, an army man
Hauled the stricken officer to his feet
And dragged him away from the fight
At first stunned the thugs looked on bemused
Then they charged on
Urged on by the soldier
The officer ran muscles burning
But for the soldier propelling him along
The officer would have fallen
Then sanctuary was in sight
A police van sat invitingly
But they must run on
The soldier yelled encouragement
The officer responded
As they reached the police van
The officer was pushed into the back
And a line of yellow coated police
Swarmed onto the attacking rangers phalanx
And in that instant the soldier was gone
Where did he go, the Good Samaritan
Who was he? This savior
The soldier whose humanity
Surpassed his baser instincts
Will we ever know who he was?
Or where he came from
Should we try to find him?
To heap glory on him
Or should we just thank God for him
May 14th 2008
The events following the UEFA Cup final at the City of Manchester Stadium
SUMMER SEASON
The summer started oh so well
With a Euro football banquet
Though sadly the home nations
Were unable to attend it
But the Euros inevitably led
To the curse of footie nations
The summer transfer market
And the incessant speculation
After the Euros came Wimbledon
And I cheered on the plucky brit
Then suffered our inclement climate
While being bored by the Cricket
I watched the windblown whingers
Hacking round at the British open
Then courtesy of the highlights
I sat and watched it all again
Then more newspaper talk
Of who will stay and who will go
Who is in and who is out
And more stories about Ronaldo
Two weeks away on the costas
Helped to numb the pain
Then home to more paper talk
And of course more summer rain
Even the upcoming Olympics
Fail to give me inspiration
Thinking of all that track and field
Merely deepens my depression
The only thing to break my torpor
And to rejuvenated my heart
Is to hear that shrill whistle blow
And have the football season start
THE NATURAL
As a footballer I must confess
My skills locker is somewhat bereft
I am a naturally two footed player
But unfortunately both of them are left
ENGLAND COACH - CAPELLO
The new England supremo
Mr Fabio Capello
Plans to take the England team
And fulfill our football dream
To raise English spirits up
And win the next world cup
But it would seem
This is just a silly dream
As the only way Mr Capello
The poor deluded fellow
Will take a team as far
As the finals in South Africa
The only way he can deliver
Is as the German team coach driver
WHO’S THE WANKER IN THE BLACK?
The song of the supporters pack
“Who’s the wanker in the black?”
That was the chant
But no longer, for you cant
Disrespect the referee
For a man such as he
Is to be protected
And respected
And no one must speak ill
Even if forced to swallow the bitter pill
Of un-just officialdom
Which is NOT seldom
No manager may mutter
Query or utter
Discontent in the refs direction
For to commit such an indiscretion
Will see them had up before the FA
Where a fine must be paid
And be sentenced to a touchline ban
For insulting the black clad man
But why should they be protected
And forcibly respected
They are a professional group
And well salaried to boot
They no longer officiate
In their amateur state
Low-tech refereeing
A hobby to be fitted in
Attending the scene of their crime
In their spare time
With no remuneration
For their dedication
No “bread and honey”
Just enough for petrol money
If lucky luncheon vouchers maybe
For a cup of tea
And a pie to warm the soul
Before disallowing a perfectly good goal
It was much better then
With those amateur men
And be able to say to their faces
That they were bloody disgraces
I don’t think we have progressed
Now we have professional refs
They now think themselves important
And no longer want to hear the chant
But I still want to sing with the pack
“Who’s the wanker in the black?”
NICE ONE HENRY # 2
FIFA are on a mission
Disrespect for refs they want to defeat
An admirable ambition indeed
But first they need to stamp out cheats
Its spread from normal quarters
To Thierry Henry who to his ignominy
handled the ball to keep it in play
A offence done quite deliberately
Which was compounded by his lie,
That it happened accidentally
BETTER TO BE DEAD THAN RED
The Liverpool supporters
Singing from the cop
Urge me to join them
On and on they never stop
“You’ll never walk alone”
Is the anthem they sing
It’s gone on for years now
With that tinny scouser ring
Well I’m from Blackpool
And of more sober tone
Which is why I say to the cop
That I’d rather walk alone
IT’S NOT OVER
We left the stadium after awhile
Exiting though the open turnstiles
To find inappropriately clad in licra
And standing on top of a Micra
A very fat woman singing opera
From on top of that poor little car
When I heard a laugh from my lad
Who then said “It’s all over then Dad”
BLATTER’S FOLLY
Everyone wants a video ref in the game
There are no dissenting voices I can name
Fans shout their support and managers want it
Players are in favour and even the refs want it
Because it is a change that really matters
Everybody want its except Mr Blatter
ALL IN THE GAME
Shaven headed barbarians
And tattooed savages
Strut with preening peacocks
In performing their pantomime
While their vengeful tribes
With banners held high
Chant their rhythmic cacophony
Faces distorted with hate
On the field of honour
They grapple and kick
They push and pull
They dive and roll
Assault and assail
Connive and cheat
In unforgiving onslaughts
They perform for baying hordes
A vile and brutal spectacle
Always referred to
As the beautiful game
MUMMY’S BOYS
I long since came to terms
Since John Barnes set the trend
With footballers wearing gloves
To keep their little pandies warm
I am less understanding
Of players taking to the field
With tights beneath their shorts
But it seems I must accept it
But the line has to be drawn somewhere
And that line was crossed
This very weekend
I was shocked beyond belief
To see a player take to the field of play
Wearing a muffler about his neck
FOOTBALL
There are many differences
Between Rugby and football
Rules, number of players, ball shape
Goal posts, pitch markings, duration
And so on and so forth
It was once said that football
Is a gentleman’s game played by ruffians
And Rugby a ruffians game played by gentleman
Not quite as true as it used to be
But still not far off the mark
I’ve even heard it said
That Football is played by children
And Rugby by grownups
But for me the difference
Can best be defined in this way
A Footballer spends 90 minutes
Pretending to be injured
While a Rugby player spends 80 minutes
Pretending that he is not
UEFA CHAMPIONS GREED
I hate the Champion’s League
On so many levels
I hate it because it’s a competition
Devised by money grubbing devils
I hate it because you have to enter it
Because that is where the money is found
Money to lure the pampered prima donnas
To your particular ground
I hate it because it is ceded
So the best teams are always on view
So that UEFA can optimise
Their television revenue
I hate it because it doesn’t seem to know
What it really wants to be
Is it a knock out competition?
Or the beginnings of the super league
But I hate it most of all
Above all other considerations
Because the European Champions League
Has so few actual champions
Post Script
Well all the above is true
But I regret the overriding reason
That I hate it so passionately is that
We have been knocked out this season
BRITISH BULLDOG
Diego Maradonna
He of the infamous
Hand of God
Has been savaged
By his new pet
The hound of God
GO FOURTH
Who will finish fourth?
Will it be Liverpool?
Who stake their claim?
Or will Aston Villa rule
Who will stand tall?
Will it be Man City?
That win the prize
Or will Spurs be sitting pretty
Who will go forth?
Into the Champions League
To dine at the top table
Who of these wannabes
Liverpool were last the champions
More than 20 years ago
Aston villa weren’t crowned
For 30 years or so
Its more than 40 years
Since Man City won
And Spurs were last the winners
In 1961
But the Champion’s League beckons
For these wannabes
These trophy less also ran’s
How can that be?
THE BEST MAN FOR THE JOB # 1
Rafa is staying at Anfield
So no new regime is brewing
There is no new job
That he is actively pursuing
And it’s a great relief
That no new club is wooing
The last thing Manchester wants
Is the prospect of Liverpool renewing
By employing a manager
Who actually knows what he’s doing
THE BEST MAN FOR THE JOB # 2
Rafa is leaving Anfield
So a new regime is brewing
There is a new job
That he is actively pursuing
And it’s a great shame
That a new club is wooing
The last thing Manchester wants
Is the prospect of Liverpool renewing
By employing a manager
Who actually knows what he’s doing
THE DOMESTIC GAME
The beautiful game
Is one of different hues
It can redden your face
And cause marital blues
Especially when you add
An excess of cheap booze
When victory is achieved
Sex often ensues
But it’s a different story
If he watches them lose
He’ll wear a football shirt
And she’ll wear a bruise
The bigger the match
The shorter his fuse
As he rants and raves
She shakes in her shoes
At the final whistle
Full of anger and booze
He wears red and white
She wears black and blue
DRESSING UP
They are the supporters
Watching their team play
On terraces far and wide
Home and away
When flags are waved
They dress with pride
With painted faces
And deep joy inside
But when the whistle blows
And the dream is at an end
Tears stain the cheeks
As friend hugs friend
They dressed with a joy
That they wanted to express
But there is nothing sadder
Than sad fancy dress
ALADIN’S WISH
Aladin rubbed his lamp
And a Genie did appear
You can have one wish
But only one he made clear
"I want to live forever"
Aladin told the genie.
"I’m sorry" Came the reply
"You can’t wish for immortality”
“Living forever
Is against the regulations
You must think again
And revise your expectation”
“Do you have your wish?”
Aladin answered “Yup”
"I want to live to see
England win the world
Pursued by packs
Of blue clad animals
In the mêlée
A lone officer, a tail ender
Already wounded by a bottle
Stumbled and fell before his pursuers
They quickly surrounded him
And kicks rained in on him
But amidst this madness, this carnage
A rangers fan, an army man
Hauled the stricken officer to his feet
And dragged him away from the fight
At first stunned the thugs looked on bemused
Then they charged on
Urged on by the soldier
The officer ran muscles burning
But for the soldier propelling him along
The officer would have fallen
Then sanctuary was in sight
A police van sat invitingly
But they must run on
The soldier yelled encouragement
The officer responded
As they reached the police van
The officer was pushed into the back
And a line of yellow coated police
Swarmed onto the attacking rangers phalanx
And in that instant the soldier was gone
Where did he go, the Good Samaritan
Who was he? This savior
The soldier whose humanity
Surpassed his baser instincts
Will we ever know who he was?
Or where he came from
Should we try to find him?
To heap glory on him
Or should we just thank God for him
May 14th 2008
The events following the UEFA Cup final at the City of Manchester Stadium
SUMMER SEASON
The summer started oh so well
With a Euro football banquet
Though sadly the home nations
Were unable to attend it
But the Euros inevitably led
To the curse of footie nations
The summer transfer market
And the incessant speculation
After the Euros came Wimbledon
And I cheered on the plucky brit
Then suffered our inclement climate
While being bored by the Cricket
I watched the windblown whingers
Hacking round at the British open
Then courtesy of the highlights
I sat and watched it all again
Then more newspaper talk
Of who will stay and who will go
Who is in and who is out
And more stories about Ronaldo
Two weeks away on the costas
Helped to numb the pain
Then home to more paper talk
And of course more summer rain
Even the upcoming Olympics
Fail to give me inspiration
Thinking of all that track and field
Merely deepens my depression
The only thing to break my torpor
And to rejuvenated my heart
Is to hear that shrill whistle blow
And have the football season start
THE NATURAL
As a footballer I must confess
My skills locker is somewhat bereft
I am a naturally two footed player
But unfortunately both of them are left
ENGLAND COACH - CAPELLO
The new England supremo
Mr Fabio Capello
Plans to take the England team
And fulfill our football dream
To raise English spirits up
And win the next world cup
But it would seem
This is just a silly dream
As the only way Mr Capello
The poor deluded fellow
Will take a team as far
As the finals in South Africa
The only way he can deliver
Is as the German team coach driver
WHO’S THE WANKER IN THE BLACK?
The song of the supporters pack
“Who’s the wanker in the black?”
That was the chant
But no longer, for you cant
Disrespect the referee
For a man such as he
Is to be protected
And respected
And no one must speak ill
Even if forced to swallow the bitter pill
Of un-just officialdom
Which is NOT seldom
No manager may mutter
Query or utter
Discontent in the refs direction
For to commit such an indiscretion
Will see them had up before the FA
Where a fine must be paid
And be sentenced to a touchline ban
For insulting the black clad man
But why should they be protected
And forcibly respected
They are a professional group
And well salaried to boot
They no longer officiate
In their amateur state
Low-tech refereeing
A hobby to be fitted in
Attending the scene of their crime
In their spare time
With no remuneration
For their dedication
No “bread and honey”
Just enough for petrol money
If lucky luncheon vouchers maybe
For a cup of tea
And a pie to warm the soul
Before disallowing a perfectly good goal
It was much better then
With those amateur men
And be able to say to their faces
That they were bloody disgraces
I don’t think we have progressed
Now we have professional refs
They now think themselves important
And no longer want to hear the chant
But I still want to sing with the pack
“Who’s the wanker in the black?”
NICE ONE HENRY # 2
FIFA are on a mission
Disrespect for refs they want to defeat
An admirable ambition indeed
But first they need to stamp out cheats
Its spread from normal quarters
To Thierry Henry who to his ignominy
handled the ball to keep it in play
A offence done quite deliberately
Which was compounded by his lie,
That it happened accidentally
BETTER TO BE DEAD THAN RED
The Liverpool supporters
Singing from the cop
Urge me to join them
On and on they never stop
“You’ll never walk alone”
Is the anthem they sing
It’s gone on for years now
With that tinny scouser ring
Well I’m from Blackpool
And of more sober tone
Which is why I say to the cop
That I’d rather walk alone
IT’S NOT OVER
We left the stadium after awhile
Exiting though the open turnstiles
To find inappropriately clad in licra
And standing on top of a Micra
A very fat woman singing opera
From on top of that poor little car
When I heard a laugh from my lad
Who then said “It’s all over then Dad”
BLATTER’S FOLLY
Everyone wants a video ref in the game
There are no dissenting voices I can name
Fans shout their support and managers want it
Players are in favour and even the refs want it
Because it is a change that really matters
Everybody want its except Mr Blatter
ALL IN THE GAME
Shaven headed barbarians
And tattooed savages
Strut with preening peacocks
In performing their pantomime
While their vengeful tribes
With banners held high
Chant their rhythmic cacophony
Faces distorted with hate
On the field of honour
They grapple and kick
They push and pull
They dive and roll
Assault and assail
Connive and cheat
In unforgiving onslaughts
They perform for baying hordes
A vile and brutal spectacle
Always referred to
As the beautiful game
MUMMY’S BOYS
I long since came to terms
Since John Barnes set the trend
With footballers wearing gloves
To keep their little pandies warm
I am less understanding
Of players taking to the field
With tights beneath their shorts
But it seems I must accept it
But the line has to be drawn somewhere
And that line was crossed
This very weekend
I was shocked beyond belief
To see a player take to the field of play
Wearing a muffler about his neck
FOOTBALL
There are many differences
Between Rugby and football
Rules, number of players, ball shape
Goal posts, pitch markings, duration
And so on and so forth
It was once said that football
Is a gentleman’s game played by ruffians
And Rugby a ruffians game played by gentleman
Not quite as true as it used to be
But still not far off the mark
I’ve even heard it said
That Football is played by children
And Rugby by grownups
But for me the difference
Can best be defined in this way
A Footballer spends 90 minutes
Pretending to be injured
While a Rugby player spends 80 minutes
Pretending that he is not
UEFA CHAMPIONS GREED
I hate the Champion’s League
On so many levels
I hate it because it’s a competition
Devised by money grubbing devils
I hate it because you have to enter it
Because that is where the money is found
Money to lure the pampered prima donnas
To your particular ground
I hate it because it is ceded
So the best teams are always on view
So that UEFA can optimise
Their television revenue
I hate it because it doesn’t seem to know
What it really wants to be
Is it a knock out competition?
Or the beginnings of the super league
But I hate it most of all
Above all other considerations
Because the European Champions League
Has so few actual champions
Post Script
Well all the above is true
But I regret the overriding reason
That I hate it so passionately is that
We have been knocked out this season
BRITISH BULLDOG
Diego Maradonna
He of the infamous
Hand of God
Has been savaged
By his new pet
The hound of God
GO FOURTH
Who will finish fourth?
Will it be Liverpool?
Who stake their claim?
Or will Aston Villa rule
Who will stand tall?
Will it be Man City?
That win the prize
Or will Spurs be sitting pretty
Who will go forth?
Into the Champions League
To dine at the top table
Who of these wannabes
Liverpool were last the champions
More than 20 years ago
Aston villa weren’t crowned
For 30 years or so
Its more than 40 years
Since Man City won
And Spurs were last the winners
In 1961
But the Champion’s League beckons
For these wannabes
These trophy less also ran’s
How can that be?
THE BEST MAN FOR THE JOB # 1
Rafa is staying at Anfield
So no new regime is brewing
There is no new job
That he is actively pursuing
And it’s a great relief
That no new club is wooing
The last thing Manchester wants
Is the prospect of Liverpool renewing
By employing a manager
Who actually knows what he’s doing
THE BEST MAN FOR THE JOB # 2
Rafa is leaving Anfield
So a new regime is brewing
There is a new job
That he is actively pursuing
And it’s a great shame
That a new club is wooing
The last thing Manchester wants
Is the prospect of Liverpool renewing
By employing a manager
Who actually knows what he’s doing
THE DOMESTIC GAME
The beautiful game
Is one of different hues
It can redden your face
And cause marital blues
Especially when you add
An excess of cheap booze
When victory is achieved
Sex often ensues
But it’s a different story
If he watches them lose
He’ll wear a football shirt
And she’ll wear a bruise
The bigger the match
The shorter his fuse
As he rants and raves
She shakes in her shoes
At the final whistle
Full of anger and booze
He wears red and white
She wears black and blue
DRESSING UP
They are the supporters
Watching their team play
On terraces far and wide
Home and away
When flags are waved
They dress with pride
With painted faces
And deep joy inside
But when the whistle blows
And the dream is at an end
Tears stain the cheeks
As friend hugs friend
They dressed with a joy
That they wanted to express
But there is nothing sadder
Than sad fancy dress
ALADIN’S WISH
Aladin rubbed his lamp
And a Genie did appear
You can have one wish
But only one he made clear
"I want to live forever"
Aladin told the genie.
"I’m sorry" Came the reply
"You can’t wish for immortality”
“Living forever
Is against the regulations
You must think again
And revise your expectation”
“Do you have your wish?”
Aladin answered “Yup”
"I want to live to see
England win the world
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