The previous year it had taken England all their time to beat the full German team in an international and I had taken with me the programme from that match.
quote by Dixie Dean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
After the match
Final whistle has been blown
yet another loss and a defeat
our fans head home miserable
heads bowed walking down the street.
Some have to stand in a queue for a bus
others walk or drive off in their cars
a few stand talking about the match
while most head off to clubs and bars.
In the pub fans discuss missed chances
and moan about the very poor referee
some say they won't be coming again
and wouldn't watch them even if it was free.
But the long suffering supporter says nothing
just sits quietly drinking his pint of beer
he's listened and heard it all so many times
season after season and year after year.
He'll be back for the next game once again
hoping and praying that his team don't get beat
but whatever the result at the end of the match
he'll keep on watching his team in his usual seat.
poem by Kevin Halls
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That match was late evening and I had the experience of the electricity of the Centre Court because it was packed, a full house for the whole match. It had been a great year for me, first time there and I had the full taste of Wimbledon.
quote by John Newcombe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Which is the strongest?
Team A beat team B,
Team B beat team C
And team C, team A
None is the strongest.
Time is the strongest
12.02.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The night before the football match
It's the night before the Saturday match
will the team let us down again?
Got a good feeling we'll be smiling
instead of leaving full of pain.
Hope our new striker gets a goal
and our defence is like a brick wall
we totally outplay the opposition
with lots of goals and superb football.
But then again we've sold players
and we haven't won a game yet
and the team we're playing are unbeaten
so I won't be putting money on us in a bet.
Anyway can't wait for Saturday to come
and to go and cheer the team on to victory
and even if our team gets a hammering
there's no other place I'd rather be!
poem by Kevin Halls
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Little Jimmy's First Football Match
Jimmy just couldn't sleep
he was too excited for that
he hadn't felt like this
since he stroked a Meerkat.
His mother said as a treat
for being such a good lad
he could go to the football
on Saturday with his Dad.
His nan knitted him a scarf
in the colours of the team
and on the morning of the match
he was so happy he could scream.
So the big day had arrived
and off he went to the match
he sat with his dad in the stands
with a cup of tea and a batch.
This was Jimmy's first game
as he was only just seven
but sitting there with his Dad
he was in football heaven.
The match was brilliant
Jimmy's team scored four
and if it wasn't for their keeper
it would have been a lot more.
Jimmy's world changed that day
football was to become his life
as an adult it cost him a lot
eventually his long suffering wife.
So let this serve as a warning
football can be bad for your boy
so instead of taking him to a match
take him fishing or buy him a toy!
poem by Kevin Halls
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Betty Breaks Football Fans Hearts
It was love at first sight
a match made in heaven
I couldn't have been happier
had my team scored seven.
I was at an away match
enjoying a half-time pie
when I heard singing
that brought a tear to my eye.
There was this beautiful woman
wearing the colours of my team
she was singing my favourite song
surely I thought this must be a dream?
But no this was really happening
and she was standing next to me
then all of sudden she stopped
and said 'Hello my name is Betty.'
Her voice had melted my heart
and my life changed that day
we pledged we'd be together forever
and never miss a game home or away.
But sadly it wasn't meant to last
and Betty fell in love with another man
she went to a match on her own
and ran away with a Liverpool fan.
But I'll always remember Betty
even though she broke my heart in two
but the last time I heard about her
she'd had flings with fans of Leeds and Crewe!
poem by Kevin Halls
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Pro Rege Nostro
WHAT have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Round the world on your bugles blown!
Where shall the watchful Sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice again
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Down the years on your bugles blown?
Ever the faith endures,
England, my England: --
'Take and break us: we are yours,
England, my own!
Life is good, and joy runs high
Between English earth and sky:
Death is death; but we shall die
To the Song on your bugles blown, England --
To the stars on your bugles blown!'
They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mailed hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies,
You could know nor dread nor ease,
Were the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!
Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient Sword,
There's the menace of the Word
In the Song of your bugles blown, England --
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!
poem by William Ernest Henley
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What Have I Done For You
What have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Round the world on your bugles blown!
Where shall the watchful Sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice agen
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Down the years on your bugles blown?
Ever the faith endures,
England, my England:-
'Take and break us: we are yours,
'England, my own!
'Life is good, and joy runs high
'Between English earth and sky:
'Death is death; but we shall die
'To the Song on your bugles blown,
'England -
'To the stars on your bugles blown!
They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mailed hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies
You could know nor dread nor ease
Were the Song on your bugles blown,
England,
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!
Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient sword,
There's the menace of the Word
In the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!
poem by William Ernest Henley
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A good, quick, small team can beat a big, slow team any time.
quote by Paul Bryant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In This Time Of The Year
My heart is in yearn
Memories are coming near
My longing and my yearn
In this time of the year
In this time of the year
All those who were dear
Still are living here
Even their voices still I can hear
In this time of the year
Sentiments melted with tear
Inside my heart love emotions gathered with fear
Ah in this time of the year
I can feel so neat
Compassion for everything
for everyone increased a beat
I can see the realities so clear
What's and who's Lear
In this time of the year
we are standing here
Out of the time we are in fear
Hearts are tired war's pain hard to bear
In this time of the year
Ah aches are in heat
Sorrows melted with my heart's beat.
The clock on the wall has stopped before millions of years.
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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After that he turned to the question of invading England. Hitler said that during the previous year he could not afford to risk a possible failure; apart from that, he had not wished to provoke the British, as he hoped to arrange peace talks.
quote by Kurt Student
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All social workers want is to get everyone involved in a programme. Because a programme provides full employment for three generations of social workers. And they mess up.
quote by David Eddings
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I really want to make this the last stop of my career. I don't want to be a vagabond, so to speak, and be traveling from team to team, year in and year out. I'm not that type of guy. I like to be settled.
quote by Jeff Garcia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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German is more familiar now since I live part of the year in Rome and part in the German part of Switzerland. But it's not difficult to sing in German; it's difficult to feel in German. This takes time. It's a culture.
quote by Cecilia Bartoli
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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England, My England
WHAT have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
Round the world on your bugles blown!
Where shall the watchful sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice agen
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
Down the years on your bugles blown?
Ever the faith endures,
England, my England:--
'Take and break us: we are yours,
England, my own!
Life is good, and joy runs high
Between English earth and sky:
Death is death; but we shall die
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
To the stars on your bugles blown!'
They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mail'd hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies,
You could know nor dread nor ease
Were the Song on your bugles blown,
England,
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!
Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient Sword,
There 's the menace of the Word
In the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!
poem by William Ernest Henley
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A Poem Of A New Year
Oh! Its another year already. How time flies.We sleep and wake before we know it, its already 365 days.Well we thank the Lord for keeping our body and soul to see yet another year. I thought of this, what joy would i have derived from life if those dear to my heart had gone with the previous year and i said to myself 'God forbid 'Without a person like you, life would have been so meaningless and i said to the good Lord 'Thank you ' for sparing the life of my friends. Most of all you. Have a splendid year. Happy New Year!
poem by Olayemi Ayo
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Post Grand Final '2008
Don't want to hear or to see the Grand Final replay
We know the results it was played yesterday
The Hawks of Hawthorn beat the Cats of Geelong
The experts and punters this time got it wrong
The favourites as we know in finals sometimes get beat
And for the team, club and supporters no joy in defeat
But there's always next year a new football season begin
But as in life one has to lose for another to win
The Hawthorn Club and their fans celebrate
Their own piece of history they did create
At Glenferrie Oval flies the Premiership flag
The winners are happy the winners can brag
In football as in life one's loss is another one's gain
But next year the losers for glory they can try again.
poem by Francis Duggan
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We are going to sign a treaty with Mexico. We are competing internationally. We need another international airport for international cargo, international travel, international businesses.
quote by Richard M. Daley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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English policy may not yet have made the definite decision to attack us; but it doubtless wishes, by all and every means, even the most extreme, to hinder every further expansion of German international influence and of German maritime power.
quote by Bernhard von Bulow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Transfer Season
Fall winter the year before,
a happy bunch sweats out,
at a fresh, red newsroom,
and later chills out,
at silky-moon terrace discs.
It was December,
time for the hot n mild,
the loved-by-all Chennai season
when local sweaters come out;
yes, 'coldest' time of the year.
With transfer tales, the open window
at distant jersey-lands,
the higher leagues where millions count
- the Euro soccer songs and goals,
filling up packaged spaces
- our work in the day,
our passion in the night;
led by the player himself,
the one with the camera.
No! No flashes,
just the changing ISOs,
and shutter speeds,
and clicks lasting minutes.
His subjects, drowned in rum and waves
- music and Quality food;
pose with effortless ease,
for pictures, stories;
yes, the team of the year.
A year down, the time;
a new transfer window.
The family's back,
he, never crest-fallen,
returns to the thick,
holding the reins
of the red-ride, his wheels;
down the capital lanes,
to his love and life.
He leaves in a day;
dreams taking a northern shift,
the captain's off,
to a light-green splash;
yes, the deal of the year.
(These lines are for a good friend. It was part of a poster we guys at the sports desk designed for him, our boss for one and a half years. As a boss (Editor) , we were his first team, and I would say, he was lucky to have the best around. But then, he was the best boss around so naturally we had to give something back to match that right?)
poem by Leslie Xavier
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