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Poem – Football Isn’t Special Anymore by Stephen Philip Druce July 9, 2016

Posted by vscorpiozine in New Poets, poems, poetry, UK poets.
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Football Isn’t Special Anymore


Football isn’t special anymore –
not like when I was a kid.

Supporters all had smiles on their faces -|
football grounds were special places –
the young and the old, the rich and the poor,
but football isn’t special anymore,

there’s too much t.v. football on,
so the novelty’s gone,
a nil nil draw or a ten one score –
football isn’t special anymore,

the football t.v. show – spoilt mid-flow,
but the half time analysis – a screen intrusion –
we hoped it was entertainment,

but the diagrams of circles and lines
shattered the illusion, oh what a bore –
football isn’t special anymore,

football shirts once a nice simple strip
you’d be careful not to tear, now
an ugly kit plastered in advertising shit
you wouldn’t want to wear, oh what an eye sore –
football isn’t special anymore,

The ground announcer insults the fans by
yelling out – the team names – as if
they’re too dumb to know who’s walking out,

twenty two child mascots – an absurd a pantomime
as you can get – players holding hands with kids they’ve never met,
oh what a chore – football isn’t special anymore,

managers under duress – to partake in conferences for
the gutter press – punished with a fine if they so decline,

the t.v. camera work of the pitch is too busy,
irrelevant shots of all the worst angles – a birds eye view –
from a pigeon dangles – spins round and makes you feel dizzy,

the meaningless obligatory pre-match handshakes – to
encourage fair play gesture fakes, but snub out of spite
and it causes a fight – once we were friends but now it’s war,
football isn’t special anymore,

t.v. cameras spying – obliged to show close ups
of drama queens crying – fuelling the tension
with a troubled face mention, awarding them attention
as compensation for the sin, of the hefty prices they were
charged to get in – a rosy apple with greed at the core,
football isn’t special anymore,

there’s not one player worth paying to see,
not one with charisma, style or presence –
not one you’d really want to be,

the ball is so light it’s now a balloon –
bouncing high as a plastic moon, if
you kick it hard, it will catch the keeper
off guard – swerving two ways on its own,
so the scorers talent is still unknown,

the winners celebrate with an artificial routine,
of fireworks, glitter, streamers and confetti,
bouncing like puppets in paper spaghetti –
the silliest spectacle I ever saw,
football isn’t special anymore,

football’s now a non-contact sport, prompting
deceit by the penalty cheat, and players who choose
not to stay on their feet,

stadiums now all look the same – like a coffee shop chain –
bland, soulless, impersonal architecture – as if the tacky plastic
pictures on the outside won’t aesthetically affect ya,

poor kids in the community ignored,
by the clubs that don’t care –
that they can’t afford
to even get in there,

you’ll pay through the roof,
you’ll pay through the floor,
because football isn’t special anymore,

football isn’t special anymore,



Stephen Philip Druce is a poet from Shrewsbury UK





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