It is just a game
Words I dare not utter
Other people have said the same
How dare you say that the reply is spluttered
Football is a passion
No a god to worship
Fans follow but not like a fashion
Many indeed curse it
Saturdays, Sundays, even in the week
If a match is on all else forget
There is no point in conversation to seek
The Television channel is set
The players are on the field
The referee his whistle blows
The players throw down the shield
It does not matter now even if it snows
The ball is kicked, a player trips
A penalty taken, a goal scored
Another player flips
The crowd explode in applause
Opinions shouted from every seat
You could do better
You cannot face defeat
That decision was not the best
Now the game is over
The worst is yet to come
I want to bury my head in clover
They talk and talk, please strike them dumb
The post mortem will never cease
Endless debate from friend and foe
Examine and iron out every crease
Your team lost, I am sorry, what a blow!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem