This poem is about football/soccer players
But could relate to several sportsmen/women
Of the modern age.....
Real football players...
In days of old when boots were brown not gold,
when men were paid in pounds, shilling and pennies.
A ball made of stitches, leather and laces,
no adverts, no plastic but defiantly smiling faces.
Heroes wore shorts around about their knees,
With no Lycra underneath, oh!! please oh!! please.
Tackles were hard, broken bones the eventual fee,
no whining to the ref, please protect me.
The height of ones foot, not taken into account,
more to win the challenge, and put yourself about.
One hundred thousand souls, watched these games,
packed tight together, no free seats for anyone famed.
Hair was Centre parted, but no brillcream to spare,
Barbers were busy, when my team played home and there.
Rattles, whistles and voices, all would shout as one,
We would always sing, words of the supporters song.
When Saturday came, we all walked to the ground,
Queued up to the turnstiles and paid the entrance pound.
With a win we\'d all boast, of wining the holy grail,
But a loss made us feel, it be another season fail.
There\'s always another week, and to the stadium we\'d go,
To watch those real football players, in a game
Of ebb and flow..
These were the days of real football players.