Anyway ten men are sometimes harder to beat
Than a full team. Right?
And remember Golden Rules
NEVER-GIVE-UP.
Billy… is that a biscuit?
Mmm. Just what I need.
Team Talk 14
Lads, believe me
You know it
I know it
We are not the best team
In this league
But this lot –
Marcus, are you listening?
This lot
I have to say it –
Are worse!
Believe me
We can beat ’em
What am I saying –
We are beating ’em!
Yippee!
So this is the situation, lads
Stay calm
Stay focused
Get out there
– Yes, now Billy –
Get out there
And whatever it was you were doing –
This is the plan, right Michael?
Right Charles?
Whatever it was you were doing
Keep doing it.
OK?
Dad on the Line (or a boy’s nightmare)
I’m playing in this big game
New kit, great pitch
Proper goals with proper nets.
All of a sudden
With rattle and scarf
And a flask of tea… there’s Dad.
Come on, my son! says Dad
Square ball! says Dad
We are the champions! says Dad
Que sera, sera.
∗
I’m playing now in a bigger game
Brand-new ball, managers in dugouts
Proper linesmen and a proper ref.
All of a sudden
With our dog on a lead
And a meat pie… there’s Dad
Come on you reds! says Dad
Up the Rovers! says Dad
We’re going to Wem-b-ley! says Dad
Que sera, sera.
∗
And now the biggest game of all
Changing rooms with sunken baths
Proper turnstiles and a proper stand.
All of a sudden
With his mates from work
And a giant photograph of me… there’s Dad.
Offside! says Dad
Foul! says Dad
That’s my lad out there! says Dad
Que sera, sera
Then, usually at this point
He runs onto the pitch.
The stewards chase him
(He’s still got the giant photo)
The crowd goes mad
The ref stares accusingly at me…
And I wake up
How to Score Goals
(1)
Approach with ball
Point left
Say, ‘Ooh, look – a bunny rabbit!’
Shoot right
Goal.
(2)
Approach with ball
Point right
Say, ‘Ooh, look – a fiver!’
Shoot left
Goal.
(3)
Approach with ball
Say, ‘Sorry about all this trickery
I never saw any rabbit’
Offer to shake hands
Shoot
(4)
Approach with ball
Sudden sound of bagpipes
(For this you will need an accomplice)
Goal.
(5)
Approach with ball
Plus cake
Sing ‘Happy Birthday to you!’
Invite goalie
To blow his candles out
etc
(6)
Approach with ball
Point skywards
Say, ‘Ooh, look – a vulture!’
(He will have forgotten the rabbit by this time)
Goal.
(7)
Approach with ball
Say, ‘I bet I can hit you with this next shot’
Shoot.
(8)
Approach with ball
Say, ‘I am being sponsored for charity
A pound for every goal I score’
Shoot
Shoot
Shoot.
(9)
Approach with ball
Say, ‘Smart boots you’ve got there
Very smart
Not like these old things of mine
Still, Dad’ll get a job soon
Then
When Mum comes out of hospital
And the baby’s had his –’
Shoot.
(10)
Approach with ball
Sudden eclipse of sun
(For this you will need to consult astronomical charts)
Goal.
(11)
Approach with ball
Think of something…
Goal.
Talk Us Through It, Charlotte
Well I shouldn’t’ve been playin’ really
Only there to watch me brother.
My friend fancies his friend, y’know.
Anyway they was a man short.
Stay out on the wing, they said
Give ’em something to think about.
So I did that for about an hour;
Never passed to me or anything.
The ball kind of rebounded to me.
I thought, I’ll have a little run with it.
I mean, they wasn’t passin’ to me
Was they? So off I went.
I ran past this first boy
He sort of fell over.
It was a bit slippery on that grass
I will say that for him.
Two more of ’em come at me
Only they sort of tackled each other
Collided – arh.∗ I kept going.
There was this great big fat boy.
One way or another I kicked it
Through his legs and run round him.
That took a time. Me brother
Was shouting, Pass it to me, like.
Well like I said, I’d been there an hour.
They never give me a pass
Never even spoke to me
Or anything. So I kept going.
Beat this other boy somehow
Then there was just the goalie.
Out he came, spreadin’ himself
As they say. I was really worried.
I thought he was going to hug me.
So I dipped me shoulder like they do
And the goalie moved one way, y’know
And I slammed it in the net.
Turned out afterwards it was the winner.
The manager said I was very good.
He wants me down at trainin’ on Tuesday.
My friend says she’s comin’ as well
Surely This Boy Must Play for England
In an ordinary house in an ordinary room
In an ordinary single bed
An ordinary boy in pyjamas
Flicks a casual goal with his head.
Surely this boy must play for England.
Helps his dad after breakfast
To wash and polish the car
Beats his man in the garage
And hammers one in off the bar.
It’s madness – he’s only ten.
Helps his mum in the afternoon
With the supermarket trip
While clearing a wall of shoppers
With a David Beckham chip
if he’s good enough, he’s old enough.
Plays with his little sister
Takes the dog for a stroll
And dumbfounds the local pigeons
With an unbelievable goal.
Ten-year-old makes the squad.
Eats his tea in the evening
Talks to his gran on the phone
Faces four giant defenders
And takes them on on his own.<
br />
Surely this boy must play for England.
Cleans his teeth in the bathroom
Draws in the steamy glass
Shuffles his feet on the bathroom mat
And flicks a casual pass.
Youngest-ever sub takes the field
In an ordinary house in an ordinary room
In an ordinary single bed
An ordinary boy plays for England
And stands the game on its head.
A hat-trick, and he’s still only ten.
Leaves the ground with the match ball
While his mother tidies the pitch
And his dad turns off the floodlights
With a casual flick of the switch.
They think it’s all over.
Just an ordinary boy in pyjamas
Fast asleep at the end of the day
Though his feet still twitch in the darkness
And he’s never too tired… to play
Soccer Sonnet
Now children, said the teacher with a smile
Put down your books and let your pencils fall
Come out into the playground for a while
And run around with me and kick a ball.
We’ll pick two teams and use our coats for goals
(But leave our bags and worries at the door)
And play the game with all our hearts and souls
And never mind the weather or the score.
I’ll promise not to test your soccer skills
The ball’s the only thing you’ll need to pass
There’ll be no Key Stage Three or spelling drills
There’ll be no top or bottom of the class.
So let’s forget the gold stars for a day
And get outside – and run around – and play.
1966, or Were You There, Daddy?
In the fabulous year of ’66
The year beyond compare
When England carried off the cup
Dear Daddy, were you there?
Yes, my son, I was there.
When Bobby Charlton ran midfield
And Hurst leapt in the air
And Peters drifted down the wing
Dear Daddy, were you there?
Yes, my son, absolutely.
When Nobby Stiles snapped at their heels
And Wilson played it square
And Gordon Banks was flying
Dear Daddy, were you there?
Yes, my son, no question.
When Bobby Moore was in control
And Ball was everywhere
And Beckenbauer was trouble
Dear Daddy, were you there?
Yes, my son, I really was.
When England carried off the cup
And anthems filled the air
And Wembley was the place to be
Dear Daddy, were you there?
Oh yes, my son, oh yes, oh yes
Oh yes I was really there.
When Bobby Charlton ran midneld
And Peters played it square
And big Jack Charlton headed out
And Hunt was everywhere
And Cohen tackled like a tank
And Beckenbauer showed flair
And Gordon Banks was flying…
flying
Your dad, Oh-he-was-there!
The Betsy Street Booters
We are the Betsy Street Booters
We are the girls you can’t beat
The sharpest and straightest of shooters
On twenty-two talented feet.
The boys in our school think we’re clueless
Which just shows how little they know
We played them last week in the playground
And beat them five times in a row.
The boys say our tactics are rubbish
Soccer skills nought out of ten
We played them once more on a real pitch
And beat them all over again
The boys in our school blame the weather
The bounce and a bad referee
We played them in glorious sunshine
And hammered them 17–3.
The boys now appear quite disheartened
And wonder just what they should do
They’re talking of taking up netball…
But we’re pretty good at that too.
We are the Betsy Street Booters
We are the girls you can’t beat
The sharpest and straightest of shooters
On twenty-two talented feet.
Who Kicked Cock Robin?
Not I said the owl
Gazing down sleepy-eyed
I’m not that kind of fowl
And we’re on the same side.
Not I said the bee
Buzzing back to his hive
Cock Robin kicked me
And then took a dive.
Not I said the grub
My excuse is complete
I was only a sub
And – I ain’t got no feet.
The Song of the Sub
I’m standing on the touchline
In my substitute’s kit
As though it doesn’t matter
And I don’t mind a bit.
I’m trying to be patient
Trying not to hope
That my friends play badly
And the team can’t cope.
I’m a sub, I’m a sub and I sing this song
And I’m only ever wanted when things go wrong.
When a boy has the measles
When a boy goes lame
The teacher turns to me
And I get a game.
When a boy gets kicked
Or shows up late
And they need another player
I’m the candidate.
I’m a sub, I’m a sub and I sing this song
And I’m only ever wanted when things go wrong.
I warm up on the touchline
I stretch and bend
And wonder what disasters
My luck will send.
if a boy got lost
Or ran away to France
if a boy got kidnapped
Would I get my chance?
I’m a sub, I’m a sub and I sing this song
And I’m only ever wanted when things go wrong.
I feel a bit embarrassed
That I’m not bothered more
When decisions go against us
And the other teams score.
I try to keep my spirits up
I juggle with the ball
And hope to catch the teacher’s eye
It does no good at all.
Just a sub, just a sub till my dying day
And I only get a kick when the others can’t play.
I’m standing on the touchline
On the very same spot
And it does really matter
And I do mind – a lot.
I think I’ll hang my boots up
It’s not the game for me
Then suddenly I hear those words:
You’re on! I am? Yijppeel
Friendly Matches
In friendly matches
Players exchange pleasantries
Hallo, George!
How’s the Missus?
Admire opponents’ kit
Smart shirt, Bert!
Sympathize with linesmen
Difficult decision, there.
And share their half-time oranges.
In friendly matches
Players apologize for heavy tackles
How clumsy of me.
And offer assistance with throw-ins
Allow us to help you with that heavy ball
In friendly matches
Players and substitutes alike
Speak well of referees
First-rate official
Sound knowledge of the game
Excellent eyesight!
In friendly matches
Players celebrate opposing players’ b
irthdays
With corner-flag candles
On pitch-shaped cakes.
In friendly matches
Players take it in turns
No, no, please, after you
to score
Kicking a Ball
What I like best
Yes, most of all
In my whole life
Is kicking a ball.
Kicking a ball
Kicking a ball
Not songs on the bus
Or hymns in the hall
Not running or rounders
But kicking a ball.
Not eating an ice-cream
Or riding a bike
No – kicking a ball
Is what I like.
Not baking a cake
Or swimming the crawl
Not painting a picture
Or knitting a shawl
Not reading a book
Or writing a letter
No – kicking a ball
Is twenty times better!
Yes, kicking a ball
Kicking a ball
COLLECTED POEMS Page 7