Rugby football hero
Drive men, drive!
Get the freaking ball!
That’s it, now go.
Fling it, throw the damned thing!
From the reserve bench
the game is rushing by
and both flanks, the centre, the lock
almost every member of the team
are taking huge knocks and still
nobody is really getting hurt.
A dropp goal soars through the poles,
followed by a brilliant try
and the crowd are standing, are cheering
when the confirmation kick
is delivered securely.
The opponents are really angry,
starts to play dirty,
with reckless foal play,
high tackling
and gets a penalty kick
that is on the mark
and then the lock is hurt,
trampled under boots
and the manager
points to me
and while the crowd cheers
I run on to the field.
The whistle blows
and in full pace I run in line
catching the ball that is flung to me
and the game is on,
the crowd roars while I sidestep
two tackles and see the line
and every thing is blurring
and time is fragmented
into splits of seconds
and I am flying at speed
trying to touch down.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
My soccer team
I see men standing next to each other
in a line
and they wear yellow and green.
The national anthem plays
and its like nobody honours it
or know the words,
but maybe they are caught by the great moment.
The whistle blows
and the ball is kicked to and fro
and there are men attacking
and others that defend.
The goal is open
and the ball flies past in a wide arc
and it’s as if my team
can’t score any goal.
The opponents have the ball
and shoot it right over the field
and one of their front players
hits it with his head.
The ball flies twisting
and with a swing in the air
and is accurately aimed at the goal
As from the ground
the goalie rises
and the onlookers are silent
and just before it’s too late,
the ball is caught
and the crowd cheers.
It is as if something sweeps into
the men with yellow and green
and they play perfectly,
like only a good team can.
There’s passion to win
and the ball is passed
from player to player
and a mighty kick,
launches it accurately past the goalkeeper
to get entangled in the net.
The crowd cheers and go nuts
and vuvezelas are blowing
and flags are swept to and thro
and the players grab each other.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Beautiful Game
As you step on to the muddy field,
You feel the joy rise inside you,
The crowd roars as the players take up there positions;
And your team gets ready to kick off.
As the game commence all nervousness is lost,
Replaced by a sudden adrenaline rush,
The play goes back and forth, forth and back;
But you run on still,
nothing else concerns you but the ball.
It goes on as such for many minutes,
Until your rivals get a chance,
Your goalie tries but to your despair the ball finds the back of the net;
The crowd boos in anger and frustration.
The very next play the ball comes to you,
You run up the wing blasting by defender after defender,
You see an opening in the keeper’s defences;
You wind up to shoot and…
TWEET! You’re tackled by a defender,
Penalty shot declares the ref,
To the opposition’s protest.
You place the ball on the penalty spot,
And the once roaring crowd goes silent,
Thousands of eyes are upon you unspeaking and unforgiving,
As you wind up to shoot all time seems to stop;
And Suddenly time resumes to the roar of the crowd
And your teammates swarming around you,
At this moment you think to yourself,
Soccer, the beautiful game.
poem by Joseph Conlan
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Kick Off Ball
Kick off ball,
Kick the ball to win the game!
But, with fair play.
Player,
Lyricist,
Arranger,
Keeper,
Composer,
Winner! !
But it was only yesterday that i found you;
And like the game ball in the land of your muse.
Face to face,
Again and again!
But pay and take it;
And, play the match to win the game! !
Play the ball,
Kick the ball,
And like the African Cup of Nations!
Race, ace, face, brace, mace, place, lace;
But words are things upon a thought,
And like something long lost! !
However, play the ball into the net to win the game.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Football - The most beautiful game
After stepping into the field
there is no way out
even before you start the game
you hear the fans shout
The players then sings their anthem
its football......
the most beautiful game.....
And when the whistle blows
the crowd starts their roar
in the 90 tensed minutes
the players got to score
Football is friendly only in name
because friendliness is not meant for football....
the most beautiful game....
So when the hard tackles go in
and injured fellow goes out
the crowd becomes furious
and starts to shout
Even after breaking one's leg
there seems to be no shame
because its football....
the most beautiful game....
Futbol
There he is standing on the field, looking around and laughing
he wants to see what you see from the stands, himself basking, charming.
The ball slips from the fingers of a dazzled referee and he kicks out,
deftly he is gliding in and out between his opponents, he is glorious.
Then where has the goal gone that it is no longer before him?
So that he spins around and is aghast and desperate with anxiety?
His opponent grins and lives the sport, he breathes the dance,
and he chants in his heart the reality of his passion, as he flies!
You do not doubt that he is dancing, because his eyes are singing.
He floats above the grass, he lifts his knees high and tumbles low.
He watches from afar as his body works his will like an oiled puppet,
and he is certainly a masterful puppeteer, he grins and slides.
Where did our laughing hero go who was so handsome with the crowd?
He is behind, running to catch up and wondering in shock what happened.
His opponent tips the ball into the air with a gentle kick of the toe.
He positions himself and pirouettes slowly, the ball goes flying.
The goalie's heart pumps like a psychotic ocean, he is freaking out now.
The ball parts the breath's of his team mates and loopty loops into the net.
Four tenths of a second after the ball flits into the net, the goalie blocks
and slaps air and is laid out at the post, feeling bested by a better man.
Again and again the dancer, the puppeteer, rides the ball down the field.
Score. Score. Score. Score. Score. There is the clock and the game is over.
Our hero grimaces in angst and seethes at glory lost and wonders...
where was he when he was most needed, where was all his glory and fame?
How was he bested by an up-and-coming punk, he wondered with shock.
When did the cinematographer of this movie decide that his part was over?
He overheard the answer at a news conference after the game
'He knows the rules better than he knows the sport, ' said his opponent
with a grin.
poem by Poet Dragon
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Football Friday
Friday nite, small towns, big city
Big lights, mark field
quietly awaiting
for bands, fans
school colors, school spirits
pep rally's, scoring alleys
big crowds, cheering fans
cheerleaders dancing, cheering
Root Root for the home team
balls flying, bodies diving
scrambles of run, bombs of passes
scoring touchdowns, holding them down
Win Win hail to our team
Lose Lose hold your heads high
there's another day to win the game
loading bus, cheers and jeers
what a night, for the fight
Win Win for the home crowd
Go Go we won't go
fight fight thru the night
finally a win, what a team
play the game as your first
win it like your last
sportsmanship is the respect
give a hand shake win or lose
till the next game we will go
on another beautiful Friday night
poem by Michael Peterson
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God's miracle
Say not
That this is just a game.
As I watch the little boys play
After a heavy school day
He goes straight to the field,
And there he is in his element
Raising up the dust
As he scores that goal.
Say not
That this is just a game.
As the boys make their football
Collecting plastic from the dumps
And cutting ropes that were washing lines.
As the boys create a pitch
Or just play on the road,
They take sticks or stones
And they build a goal.
Say not
That this is just a game.
As these boys return home at night
Return to be whipped after their delight
The ball will be smashed,
The plastic seperated from the rope
And the field will be taken.
To the farmers and goat herders it will be given
But the boys collect themselves, with undying determination
And they go back to playing football.
Say not
That this is just a game.
As the scout sees that young player
And he is sent to England
Maybe he will play with Man U or maybe Inter.
He sees a world far from home
From sunny rays to raindropp beats.
Say not
That this is just a game.
As that girl plays on the boy's team
She raises rumours,
As people see her and say she will not marry
She drops her bucket of water and goes to be goalie.
The boys boo and make fun of her
But they know she is a very good player.
And she is an example to other little girls
Who long for that ball and not for pearls.
Say not
That this is just a game.
As old men sleep in bars
Just so they can see that match
Of their favourite English team,
And when they reach home their angry wives will ask
'What will that team give you if they win? '
The men will go to bed silent
But their minds know the answer
'They will give me pride, and honour.'
Say not
That this is just a game.
As the world cup starts
Linking whole nations.
And in that stadium
There is no such thing as rich, poor, colour or religion.
Because everybody will mix
As they go to cheer their country,
And their players from Eto'o to Messi.
Say not
That this is just a game.
When that player has the ball
At the box for a penalty
And it is the finale
When all hearts will stop.
And all breaths are held.
And when that goal is scored,
Each cheer is louder than the next
Every person with smiles so big
Both in the stands and on the field
There stand a connection of confusion,
But also true happiness.
Say not
That this is just a game.
When the team will hold that cup
And the whole country becomes a champion
Every man, every woman, and all the children.
It's name goes down in history
And it will be known as a cup holding nation.
Say not
That this is just a game.
No, this is football.
This is God's miracle,
To that little boy and girl
To that man who knows the answer
To not one but all,
And to you and me as well
Say not
That this is just a game.
For this, this is football!
poem by Mariam de Haan
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Eleven rules of football
I took my little boy
to a nearby football pitch
He said he was tired
of playing hide and seek
He now wanted a football
to play around and kick
As he clutched my hand
I spoke to him
and tried to make him understand
the eleven rules of football
taking into consideration
that he was quite small
Now rule number one
Football is made of eleven strong men
When one or two are naughty
you may still get away
with playing nine or ten
Rule number two
When a member of your crew
hits the ball into the net
A goal is scored
that I can place a bet
For I am very sure
Rule number three
The maximum number of players
you can substitute is three
It does not cost a dime
It is totally free
Rule number four
There are rules you must comply with
When a team commits an offense
named a foul
before the game can commence
A small advantage has to be given
to the otherside
Rule number five
A freekick
is given after a foul
Sometimes awarded after
unnecessary dives
Rule number six
When you are shown a card that is yellow
Its time for your temper to mellow
or you will get the referee quite mad
and he will dismiss you with a red card
Rule number seven
A penality is like heaven
It is awarded
when a player breaks the rule
maybe by using his hand as a tool
to play the ball inside the penalty box
its time for him to go back to school
Rule number eight
A thrownin
Is when the ball is kicked out of the field
It's one of footballs favorite sins
Rule number nine
Offside is
When you are the only one running
alone to score a winning goal
you must hesitate
till you see a single soul
Rule number ten
A game lasts
for ninety minutes
You are beat
When your team has less goals than the other
That is when you must admit defeat
Rule number eleven
when your team is losing
you have to sing something amusing
saying
All we want is a goal
While we are dressed in coloured charcoal
Now my little boy
I said
These are the eleven rules of football
lets go and practise inside the sports hall
Copyright 2005 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Tense And Nervous At The Match
Massive game today
butterflies in my stomach
can feel my heart beating
beads of sweat on my brow.
But I'm not even playing
I'm just a loyal supporter
but we need the win so much
a fan who loves his football club.
The referee has blown his whistle
our fans are singing and chanting
the away fans are singing as well
they need three points as much as us.
The game is swinging to and fro
they have hit the post and so have we
then with five minutes till half time
they are awarded a dodgy penalty.
Our keeper tries to put the taker off
he jumps up and down on his line
he strikes it hard to the goalies left
the keeper alas dives to his right instead.
One down at the interval it's off to the bar
us fans moaning about the dreadful decision
then after a pint it's back to the stands
to start cheering on our team once again.
We go on the attack right from the start
our striker bangs one on to their bar
then we get a bit of luck at last
the referee has given us a dodgy penalty.
There keeper jumps up and down on his line
but our taker stands with hands on hips
then cooly trots up and hits it to the right
there keeper dives down to his left.
One all now with ten minutes to go
us fans are going crazy getting behind the team
then we all end up hugging and leaping about
because our striker has smacked it in the net.
The ref blows his whistle it's the end of the game
we all stand and clap our beloved team off
it's off to the pub for a great night out
it feels so good when your team gets a win!
poem by Kevin Halls
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The Crowd
Words and music by roy orbison and joe melson
I go out with the crowd, I play the game
Pretending out loud but it dont seem the same
For the heart of the crowd is gone from sight
My part of the crowd is not with me tonight
I remember the prom, every dance with you
All the crazy things that we used to do
Sometimes wed wait for a chance
And then wed steal away
From the crowd and the dance to our hideaway
Aww, but youre gone and its not the same old game
I fall apart each time I hear your name
Guess Ill go along with the crowd, Ill make believe
That youll come back to me, run back to me
Hurry back to the crow-ow-ow-owd a-and me-e-e-e-e.
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Flamengo Team! ! !
i am a little dizzy
little muddled
with the force of your impact
you kick the ball to me
and do your goal
1 X0
I run by green field
to hold the white ball, firmly
you kick in a dishonest way
you are the top scorer
what a stroke!
2X0
I try to spare me
and move quickly towards back
my place is not safe
a direct free kick
green and black of his shirt vibrates
3x0
but i am Flamengo
my colours are black and red
and never surrender run on my blood
My nation is rubro-negra
and certainly is not end this football game
First Time, friend! ! ! ! !
poem by Mirna Morgan
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For Ball
At home
my dog and child
play the foot ball
Dog kick the ball
Clild also kick
Ball was...
Run to run...
Suddnley dog
Bite the ball
The ball was blast...
Chil was cry
Dog was wow...wow...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Ball Chain
Kill the lights
You and i
On the boat
Hypnotized
I look at you
You say to me
Im the lock, now
Youre the key.
Oh, its all the same
Just play the game
Carry the weight
Of this ball and chain
Save the lies
You and i
On the road to rationalize
You and I should never guess
You and I should never regret
Oh, its all the same
Just play the game
Carry the weight
Of this ball and chain
Of this ball and chain
Of this ball and chain
song performed by by Live
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ball & Chain
kill the lights
You and i
On the boat
Hypnotized
I look at you
You say to me
"i'm the lock, now
You're the key."
Oh, it's all the same
Just play the game
Carry the weight
Of this ball and chain
Save the lies
You and i
On the road to rationalize
You and i should never guess
You and i should never regret
Oh, it's all the same
Just play the game
Carry the weight
Of this ball and chain
Of this ball and chain
Of this ball and chain
song performed by by Live
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Crowd
The Crowd
Artist: Roy Orbison (peak Billboard position # 26 in 1962)
Words and Music by Roy Orbison and Joe Melson
I go out with the crowd, I play the game
Pretending out loud but it don't seem the same
For the heart of the crowd is gone from sight
My part of the crowd is not with me tonight
I remember the prom, every dance with you
All the crazy things that we used to do
Sometimes we'd wait for a chance
And then we'd steal away
From the crowd and the dance to our hideaway
Aww, but you're gone and it's not the same old game
I fall apart each time I hear your name
Guess I'll go along with the crowd, I'll make believe
That you'll come back to me, run back to me
Hurry back to the crow-ow-ow-owd a-and me-e-e-e-e.
Transcribed by Ronald E. Hontz
[email protected]
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0021 Football's new rules
I guess you read the news
about the town – soon to be copied –
which abolished traffic lights...
what happened? Self-preservation,
care, and courtesy have won the day..
while the soccer news this weekend was
that everybody blames the referee..
who’s after all, just the traffic-lights to this game..
suppose we tried the same daring system on the soccer field..
any player who makes a bad tackle
or an inadvertent trip (deliberate ones
would disappear as a mark of shame)
to apologise politely and offer
a free kick to the other side..
the player who kicks the ball into touch
immediately hands the ball to the other side
or at the very least, runs away – both sides
always knowing very well who touched it last..
shirt-pulling and diving would be
such matters of shame that the player’s
own side would stop playing and remain
rooted to the spot until
the culprit offered a free kick..
and any really doubtful events would be referred
to the television cameras for a quick decision;
and all the players might just feel the urge
to applaud and clap a tricky moment fairly resolved?
and at the end of the match,
the players would line up and just like
an international does at the beginning,
shake hands down the line…
while the managers would meet symbolically at centre-pitch,
shake hands publicly on a game cleanly fought,
and even – full on camera – look each other
in the eye..
and we the supporters would feel damn proud
that sport was sport once again, that
football was and is the life-blood of the nation,
and if not more important than life and death
at least a happy occasion of skills enjoyed..
and that, win or lose, chivalry and
the game’s the thing..
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Kick It Up
(jim robinson)
Well I work six days out of seven
Waiting all week for saturday night
Going out to neon heaven
Punch the clock on party time
Jamming this old pickup across the county line
Aint it good to be alive
Kick it up
Tell the boys in the band
Play it hot cause I came in here to dance
Kick it up
Give that country girl a whirl
My boots are gonna lose the blues when they turn those guitars up
Kick it up
Got my paycheck in my pocket
Darling well spend every dime
And when this bar starts rocking
Well show them all just how to unwind
Dont worry bout your troubles
Leave em at the door
And Ill meet you out on the floor
Kick it up
Tell the boys in the band
Make it smoke cause she came in here to dance
Kick it up
Give that country girl a whirl
My boots are gonna lose the blues when they turn those guitars up
Kick it up
Kick it up
When the boss man gets you down
Kick it up
If youre tired of the runaround
Kick it up
Yeah we know monday morning will be here before too long
So until the night is gone
Kick it up
Tell the boys in the band
Play it hot make it smoke cause we came here to dance
Kick it up
Give that country girl a whirl
My boots are gonna lose the blues when they turn those guitars up
Kick it up
Oh kick it up
Kick it up (kick it up)
Kick it up (kick it up)
Kick it up
Kick it up (kick it up)
Kick it up
Kick it up
song performed by by John Michael Montgomery
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let Me Play Football
Let me run on the field
Of a crowded football stadium,
The ball is sticky to my leg,
Let the opponent’s defenders to come.
Let me head the ball with full force,
When my team player does a corner kick,
I want to place the ball in opponent’s net,
That’s an honour more than climbing Everest’s pick.
Let my team’s footballers hug me,
When I score a world class goal,
And I shall preserve my supporters’ celebration
Forever in my golden soul.
poem by Biswajit Ganguly
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Games
Standing up at the plate
Waiting on my date
I was starin' to worry
She was a halt-hour late
My team don't like it
When I delay the game
But they know I'm crowned
The girls on the rebound
Life is like a stadium at night
Crowd cheers jeers
Drama spot lights
The public know us
Maybe they don't
But now I m gonna show 'em
What the cameras won't
Time is running out for you and me
What's it all about ?
When I was a kid
I went down to the minors
For stealing a base
They gave me a shiner
Sat me on the bench
'til I learned my lesson
Little older
song performed by by Dog Eat Dog from Play Games
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Reverend Mullineux
I'd reckon his weight as eight-stun-eight,
And his height as five-foot-two,
With a face as plain as an eight-day clock
And a walk as brisk as a bantam-cock --
Game as a bantam, too,
Hard and wiry and full of steam,
That's the boss of the English Team,
Reverend Mullineux!
Makes no row when the game gets rough --
None of your "Strike me blue!"
"Yous wants smacking across the snout!"
Plays like a gentleman out-and-out --
Same as he ought to do.
"Kindly remove from off my face!"
That's the way that he states his case,
Reverend Mullineux.
Kick! He can kick like an army mule --
Run like a kangaroo!
Hard to get by as a lawyer-plant,
Tackles his man like a bull-dog ant --
Fetches hom over too!
Didn't the public cheer and shout
Watchin' him chuckin' big blokes about,
Reverend Mullineux!
Scrimmage was packed on his prostrate form,
Somehow the ball got through --
Who was it tackled our big half-back,
Flinging him down like an empty sack,
Right on our goal-line too?
Who but the man that we thought was dead,
Down with a score of 'em on his head,
Reverend Mullineux.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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