'Football', 'or' (Eye-Witness Account By J. Chisholm) Poem by Andrew Wright

I've very often wondered why two and twenty men,
Should chase a ball around a field and kick it back again,
And why my fellow mortals who arbeit every day,
Should leave their beds on Sundays to go out and watch the play,
So filled with curiosity about the whole affair,
I wandered to the football field to watch and take the air.

The Rauch lads lined up early, a very grim array,
Opposing them the Kuhndorf men looked ready for the fray,
The ref he blew his whistle and the crowd began to yell,
But just what happened after that, I'm blowed if I could tell,
For down the road, across the field, a vision hove in view,
With golden hair and ruby lips, and great big eyes of blue.

Now I'm a steady sort of chap, quite cool, not easy led,
But just one limpid, liquid glance, and shucks, I lost my head,
The bounding ball, the battle grim, the game, the referee,
The surging crowd, the field itself, had somehow ceased to be,
At least, at first, I thought they had, too soon to realise,
That my long distance love affair was watched by other eyes.

Now look you chaps, I ask you what was a man to do?
On one side - just a football match, on t'other eyes of blue,
A pair of shapely silk clad legs, beneath such dainty skirts,
O four and twenty knobbly knees and patched up Stalag shirts,
I breathed a prayer to Ruby Ayres (thought what my wife would say) ,
Then turned to watch the football match, but Blue Eyes won the day.

Football I spurned, my back I turned on tattoed hairy chests,
On sights more fair, parading there, my aching eyes would rest,
At last I know the reason why on Sunday afternoons,
The camp is quite deserted and there's silence in the rooms,
Believe me from this day forth till football season's done,
You'll hear me saying with the rest, Good game? Who won?