anybody got any football poems they want to discuss?

[FUDGIE3]

here we go again...found a wee poem
please enjoy.....




A VANISHED BREED. (The Scottish winger)

They could not produce goalkeepers,
and Andy Stewart couldn't sing,
but what Scotland could produce,
was wizards on the wing.

The home of great inventors,
of engineers and thrift,
the men they produced on the wing,
became English footballs gift.

They were described as feisty, canny,
as fiery, nippy, wee,
the likes of them unfortunately,
again we'll never see.

Those magic little gentlemen,
filled Scottish hearts with pride,
but the Scottish winger has disappeared,
like the ship-yards on the Clyde.

'Twas in places like the Gorbals,
and the close-nit mining towns,
that reared these little geniuses,
who made full backs look like clowns.

Dribbling from the tenements,
ball glued to the feet,
treating every lamp-post,
as if it was a man to beat.

Learning to dip the shoulder,
and dummy the defender,
weaving with the tennis ball,
like a drunk out on a bender.

Poverty had made many of them,
look like they suffered malnutrition,
but feed them the ball out on the wing,
and you witnessed a magician.

Then when they got to fifteen years,
and of their potential their weren't a doubt,
they were whisked away south of the border,
by an English football scout.

Despite the language barrier,
and the fact most were homesick,
after building up on English steak,
they became an automatic pick.

As they'd stroll along the touchline,
shins exposed by lowered socks,
their aim was to reach the bye line,
and then produce a cross.

Nearly every English team,
had atleast one in their side,
and the big and burley forwards,
would convert crosses they supplied.

Lorimer and Eddy Gray,
roamed the flanks at Leeds,
they still could get their place today,
in that team of Peter Reid's .

Jimmy Johnstone starred for Celtic,
his namesake Willie for the Gers,
Charlie Cooke at Chelsea,
and Jim Robertson with the Spurs.

Forest also had a Robertson,
he was John, and overweight,
but when full backs tried to catch him,
they were always just too late.

Willie -------- Willie Morgan,
Willie Morgan on the wing,
was heard aloud in the Stretford End,
where the masses they would sing.

They sang the same at Highfield Road,
where Tommy Hutchison ruled the flanks,
and Arthur Graham nut megged full backs,
some who were the size of tanks.

There was Billy Hughes at Sunderland,
and his brother ' Yogi Bear',
and wee Willie Henderson,
a player of pace and flair.

Yes, most were tempermental,
they could easily throw a looper,
but will Scotland ever produce again,
the likes of Davie Cooper?

Now the Glasgow lamp-post is all alone,
except for the odd canine,
street football is finito,
and the kids are all on - line.

Eastenders starts at eight o'clock,
so there's no one on the street,
except the ghosts of the old wing men,
with magic in their feet.

[yahoogle9171]

nice poem, pity i fell asleep half way through

[Ger1]

Aye i liked it but you should have put Govan instead of the Gorbals

[adelel4993]

well done on learning how to copy paste....a nice poem..bit long winded

[WINGNUT173450]

You must have spent hours on here with spell checker with those big words like( so,no,odd and the)

[ryecatcher62]

I prefer my mate's poem about pigeon racing.It goes something like this...............

ON YONDER HILL THERE WAS A DOOKIT

IT'S NO THERE NOO COS SOME CNUT TOOK IT

Absolute Quality and deserves 10 points......................