Category Archives: football

Premier League football gets tied up in the FA cup. Crystal Palace v Grimsby Town, seen through increasingly cynical eyes.

Not Much Cup.

A cup tie at Selhurst Park agin Grimsby Town,
Two minutes in and poor Town are one man down,
How the Eagles crowd did crow,
The Grimsby fans cry ‘Oh fu- Oh no!’
For Grimsby it’s now backs to the wall
While Palace aim for goals, for one and all.

For surely, this week at Selhurst the goals would flow…
We watched a grim nil-all draw, till with two minutes to go
After spurning chances galore
Luckily a Palace player did score;
Happily, for goals at Palace are precious and few,
And, Hallelujah, he even scored at the right end too.

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Premier League football, first game 2019, the excitement never ends… Wolverhampton Wanderers V Crystal Palace.

Wandering Away From Home.

‘Twas at Wolverhampton, on a night crisp and clear
Crystal Palace kicked kicked off the first game of the new year,
But Wolves played like a pack of mongrels on this night,
They huffed and they puffed but they showed little bite.

But neither were the Eagles soaring,
This game was tame, tedious and boring.

If someone- anyone- wouldn’t score for us soon
We’d join in with the Wolves fans and howl at the moon,
In the last ten minutes Palace score not one goal but two,
But it’s been no walk in the park watching Wolves lose at Molineux.

We won, yet I feel sorry for Wolves all the same,
We had all endured a dog’s breakfast of a game.

Premier League, football, Christmas gifts, and a prayer for whats important at this time. From a Crystal Palace fan’s perspective, at least.

Christmas Hangover.

What an inspiring result at Man City the Palace fans saw,
But we’re back to reality after Cardiff’s Nil-all draw,
Some say the Welsh were plucky,
Some say Palace were unlucky,
Cardiff came with a rear-guard ponderous, leaky and porous,
Hell, those Bluebirds would- should- be easy pickings for us.

But the Palace sharp-shooters hit both the bar and the post,
They tend to clobber the woodwork more often than most,
Gawd, they hit the bar, they miss the ricochet,
We wouldn’t really be celebrating Christs birthday;
Surely after the Man City Miracle, Lord it would please us
If someone nailed in a couple of crosses. (Apologies to Jesus.)

Season of discontent to reason for joy? A jolly good pre-Christmas for the Palace faithful.

Christmas Gift, Gladly Taken.

Santa’s gifts are real, I do believe;
‘Tis come on the eve of Christmas eve,
If you’re a Palace fan in Man City Land
Praying some bearded guy up there’d lend a hand.

Far away from the delights of Selhurst Park
Prospects for an Eagles win are usually dark,
But to hope for a win at City, ones odds are slim;
‘Twould be a monumental miracle, even for Him.

‘Twas a light fixture, thought those fans clad in blue
But they’ve left the Etihad with heavy hearts at 3-2,
Palace scoring 3 away comes once in a blue moon,
Santa’s present has come early, on a Saturday afternoon.

England, so close in the World Cup but bowing out again. Going home. Ah well, home is where the heartbreak is.

The Lion Weeps Tonight.

Our brave English boys continue to astound,
Gareth’s guys have barely put a foot wrong,
So I’ve backed Britain, plonked down my last pound,
I’m flying off to Russia, to join that joyous throng-
Praying God or Aeroflot get me safely to the ground.

““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““

Silent in Moscow’s sombre departure lounge I’m found,
About me England fans faces are gravely long,
From a drunken fellow traveler comes a sorry sound,
The hollow mocking chorus of that ‘Three Lions’ song;
He’s coming home by baggage bay, or gagged and bound.

The soccer/football World Cup, England, the semi-finals, and finally, a reason to believe?

Getting The Cross In.

It was months and months of Sundays back I began to doubt
The words Father McEvedy would by rote routinely spout,
But this July St George has never seen anyone so devout,
For it feels the world is about to end
When your World Cup hopes depend
On England miraculously winning a penalty shoot-out.

So many years as a lapsed Catholic and an avowed atheist,
The cold comfort of the confessional, all too easy to resist,
Yet I’m rattling the old rosary, praying, hoping for an assist,
Perhaps He might help out Southgates squad-
Argentina don’t need a helping hand from God,
Good Lord, what better reason to prove You exist?

England go to the world cup with no expectations, but perhaps this time hopes might not fade away, like the last time, and the time before and the time before that, and… (Best wishes and good luck from the Antipodes.)

Reboot.

I woke this morning, from a fevered dream,
My mind had dreamt of a winning England team,
So I shook my woolly head, threw off the duvet,
Rose to face the reality of watching England wilt away.

But this game had a result few could anticipate,
A smile wreaths the dial of gloomy Gareth Southgate,
I shake my stunned head, I stroke my gaping jaw,
Am I dreaming still or is this England in the final four?

Was it half a century ago Geoff Hurst won our hearts?
When the pop of ‘Mothers Little Helper’ topped the charts?
Dare I dream of those good ol’ days, of glories long gone,
Of 1966, since when all but the Rolling Stones have rolled on?

Oh, this is something long hoped for, if truly unexpected,
High time for the faded old red white ‘n’ blue to be resurected?
So, up to the loft I’ll go to disinter that trusty dusty back-pack;
Lets see if time’s been kind to a cheap-jack souvenir Union Jack?