FOOTBALL FANS

Friday it’s brilliant I’ve finished my work.

A few pints of lager try for a girl, the perfect new lady who’s out of this World.

She understands offside and all F.I.F.A. rules, dubious tackles and players who fool.

My mates they all tell me she doesn’t exist.

Your wasting the time lad so be realist.

Go for a lady who has a career, and won’t really miss if you’re out on the beer.

You’ll need cash for tickets for us in the cup, a coach ride to Wembley

 We just need more luck.

You don’t want a lady, who follows you there, shouting stop swearing.

Hey! ref that’s not fair.

Your mates will all leave you to be on your own, she’ll stop all the drinking and then she will moan, this football is boring let’s buy us a home.

Sooner or later you’ll have to choose, shoes for the children or matches with booze.

Watching Cable on match afternoons, mother is visiting strictly no booze.

It’s shopping on match days and you’ll have to drive, the kid’s are all crying with things in their eyes. Screaming hey mummy he’s pulling my hair mum she smacks Billy who screams it’s not fair.

Then you’ll be shouting, I can’t hear the score, she’ll grab at the children

and slam the car door.

She’s gone to her mothers your all on your own slugging the whisky

 and stuck on the phone.

You’re watching the footy on cable T.V. the screen just goes blank a problem you see.

The radio crackles as you make the tea, the tuning is way out not like the T.V.

Your old mates will pass you on the way to the pub.

Hey! lad it’s all over they say with a shrug.

They give you a ticket the games in the Prem; playing United should be a gem.

Match day arrives you get up for your coat the ticket has vanished the kids surely know.

Your mates won’t forgive you for they had a sale, they could have sold it

and paid for the ale.

You wife she tells you she was having no luck she still has the ticket but her phone just got stuck, to tell you to come back and get it oh shucks.

It’s nearly full time the tickets no use, the papers say a great game it was.

A year has passed and your team won the cup, the mates that you had are living it up, off to the parties and games by the score, you’ve settled down don’t need it no more.

The kids have grown up and got kids themselves, Peter and Amy aged about twelve.

You go to the match just the one’s that you choose with young Grandson Peter strictly no booze, the club shop later for bits for his room.

Peters playing for the team in his school, clubs have shown interest

and want him to move.

One day his father will shout out his name his mother and granddad

will all do the same?

Money and fast cars the fans call his name, Peter, Peter they all chant the same.

Kids wear the strip with his name on the back, because he’s a striker and always attacks.

Girl’s hang around him from his old class he stays with a beauty,

She’s his new lass.

Years go by he wins a few cups he marries his class mate finds a new club.

World cup appearance the final as well, he scores the winner one close as hell.

Name in the papers his wife’s name is Mel, her new range in clothing make up as well.

Chat shows and speaking millionaire’s row, club can’t afford him so off he must go.

New club in Italy goals by the score, the fans they adore him and he gives them more.

Peter is older slow to the ball, he misses some sitters his backs to the wall.

Retires from football he talks on T.V. tells all the fans what they don’t really see.

You can’t fool the watchers they see what you don’t, trip in the box or elbow in throat.

It’s all about woodwork and lines for offside, players just kidding look ref! They cry.

Footballs all money to see who is who; the fans queue for ages for the magical few.

We do it for more than the game on the grass, a soggy meat pie or soaking wet ass.

Remember you clubs to give us respect. Without the fans there’s just nothing left.

By

Kevin Humphreys 

6^th November 2010.