When football finally staggered back onto our TV sets this June, it looked and felt entirely different from the game we were used to. Suddenly, the mixed metaphors were sombre and the jargon had taken on a distinctly more medical bent. This poem was written to reflect the new reality of the beautiful game, with snatched fragments of commentary reshaped into verse.
how much they are missed, the crowd!
it’s hard to make much noise behind the masks
it’s not one for the showreel
nor a classic by any stretch
in future years, it might be a quiz question
they’ll sit down demanding answers
I’m not saying, allow them back in their armchairs
but you start to think about perfect farewells
on this grey day on the south coast
when champions fly out of traps
it hardly feels like the same season
the spoils shared behind closed doors
the golden nugget chances
the ice still in their veins
football is becoming science, but
until the maths is done, they won’t relax
an honorary doctor stems the flow
his surgical finish, their heartbeat
but until survival is mathematically certain
the hunger does not diminish
it just squirms wide.
Orla Foster (website) is a writer based in Sheffield, UK. As well as covering arts and music, she is the author of ‘Lovely Little Nutmegs’, a series of poetry zines which take football commentary and transform it into verse.
Image 008/365 Penalty kick by Rubén Rico under a CC BY-NC 2.0 license.