Football Hooligans
In the seventies it was madness
Saturday's at football matches
steel toe capped boots
braces and cropped hair.
Hundreds of hooligans
ready to do battle
fighting to take their 'end'
our mob is tougher than yours.
Police trying to stop it all
keeping the hooligans apart
as bottles, bricks, fists, kicks,
rain down in and around the ground.
This was football in the seventies
a dangerous place to be
keep your wits about you
watch where you walk about.
Then it cleaned up it's act
hooligans told to stay away
violence slowly eradicated
behave or face a lengthy ban.
But alas it's creeping back in
hooligans making a return
the seventies making a comeback
as trouble keeps breaking out.
Let's hope it's not as bad as then
as they were very nasty times
how do you know all this I'm asked?
Ashamedly, I too was a hooligan then.
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Hooligans Holiday
Drop dead beauties
Stompin up a storm
Lines of hell on our face
Bruised bad apples
Crawling through the night
Busted loose runaway
Always, always
Thrill without a motive
30 days just a haze
(chorus)
Everybody wants a piece of the action
Everybody wants a piece of the pie
Were on a holiday, hooligans holiday
Im on a holiday, hooligans
I gotta get away
Hooligans holiday
Were on a holiday, hooligans
Cross-eyed derelict comin
An iron horse between our legs
Tattoos and black manes flowin
Every days a holidaze
(chorus)
Modern times and new bloods pumpin
Only the strong survive
(chorus)
song performed by by Motley Crue
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Architects Of Anarchy: Architects Of War
stay away from the hooligans, dear
such people are an inappropriate influence
hard core hooligans
enjoy their rioting killing
savouring an adrenaline
rush destructively violent
such people are rioters
not revolutionaries
hooligans are rioters thugs
remorseless psychopaths
be hard core hooligans
happily killing foreigners
or their own countrymen
the kind who love setting fires
to houses blocks of city flats
looting shop windows
opportune smash and grabs
setting fire to city trains
burning passenger coaches
in train station at midnight
watching cosmopolitan utilities
enticing pagan profit flames
never forgetting shadow masters
lecturing paying stack money
replacement of municipal
property town city region...
countries exploited foreign nations
gutted for corporate contract gain
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Just Like That
(myles goodwyn/jim clench)
Published by summerlea music, ltd. - bmi
Alive and jivin, bareback ridin, anything to tease you
We rant and rave, the world to save, anything to please you
Now all night long we roll along, we aint in bed till seven
I know damn well were goin to hell, cant pay the price in heaven
Ooh, ooh, ooh ooh, just like that
Ooh, ooh, ooh ooh, just like that
They say were no class, man are they crass, smiles upon their faces
Were glad to be this way you see, we have no need for crazes
Ooh, ooh, ooh ooh, just like that
Ooh, ooh, ooh ooh, just like that
Were rock n roll children tonight
Were gonna rattle everything in sight
Look out ma, the hooligans are rolling tonight
Weve been gone a long long time, and I only want to see you
Im headin home and all alone, you know how much I need you
Ooh, ooh, ooh ooh, just like that
Ooh, ooh, ooh ooh, just like that
Were rock n roll children tonight
Were gonna rattle everything in sight
Look out ma, the hooligans are rolling tonight
Were rock n roll children tonight
Were gonna rattle everything in sight
Look out ma, the hooligans are rolling tonight
Ooh, ooh, ooh ooh, just like that
Ooh, ooh, ooh ooh, just like that
Ooh, ooh, ooh ooh, just like that
Ooh, ooh, ooh ooh, just like that
song performed by by April Wine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I don't think a movie today that captured all the things that we did in the seventies could come close, because it's like asking to recreate the seventies and the audience sensibilities and that's impossible.
quote by Paul M. Glaser
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Discarded Lines From Famous Poems
I wandered lonely as a cloud
that floated on high o'er vales
and hills, when all at once I saw a
crowd of football hooligans so I legged it.
What is this life if full of care,
we have no time to stand and stare,
because the stewards make us sit down.
Solomon Grundy
born on a Monday
christened on a Tuesday
supported Sheffield Wednesday.
The Owl and the Pussycat went to sea
in a beautiful pea-green boat
they took some honey, and plenty of money,
because mascots weren't allowed on the coach.
If you can keep your head when all about you
are losing theirs, and blaming it on you,
if you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
then you'll make a good manager my son.
All the worlds a stage,
and all the men and women players,
they have their exits and entrances,
that's football for you!
poem by Kevin Halls
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Marriage Is...
Making those dreams of a white picket fence come true
Having a hand to hold
Changing your last name
Not always agreeing, but always working it out
Knowing everything about someone and loving them anyway
Having a grocery shopping partner
Sitting on the front porch complaining about the noisy hooligans next door
Building a relationship with your best friend
poem by Gabriella Jellison
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Football Stole my Man: A Song
Woke to the alarm clock a screaming
Pulling my away from all of my dreaming
the morning sun is hazy and grey, telling me it’s
Time to start my day: everyday seems just the same
And his mind is on that damn ole game
Sunday comes and he is hanging with the boys
They are out in the back jumping around and making all that noise
I just sit back and try to understand
How football came and stole away my man
His mind is drifting away again
I feel like I lost my best friend
I could back up and go away
A tired lady with three kids in tow
~laugh~ but no I know I will stay
Sunday comes and he is hanging with the boys
They are out in the back jumping around and making all that noise
I just sit back and try to understand
How football came and stole away my man
Saturday night and I put my make-up on and do my hair up pretty
Get all dressed up and take him to the city
And try to rekindle that old flame
Try to get back to where we began
When there was no football, just me and my man
but
Sunday comes and he is hanging with the boys
They are out in the back jumping around and making all that noise
I just sit back and try to understand
How football came and stole away my man
One more Sunday and we are hanging with the boys
Jumping around and making all that damn noise
Now that I am a fan
It is just football me and my man
© JPM 1/25/09
Denny Long Of Annagloor
A two time All Star Gaelic Footballer about him he inspired many a song
The pride of Cork and Millstreet the marvellous Denny Long
Arguably Ireland's finest midfielder when he was in his prime
The memory of his greatness will not fade out in time.
His great positional sense and accurate kicking was a pleasure to behold
And the story of his rise to fame it often has been told
From Annagloor to Croke Park he made it all the way
The cheers rang out for Denny on All Ireland Football Final day.
A Gaelic Football legend of the seventies the years have left him slow
But he was quite a hero some three decades ago
So stylish and athletic Sportsmen like him are rare
And with the best in Ireland he surely do compare.
It was a privilege to have seen him play he was a credit to the game
All Irelands, All Stars and County Championship medals and one who knew great fame
His lengthy and accurate kicking his great useage of the football
A great player the Gaelic Football fans remember and recall.
He reached heights in Gaelic Football that only few attain
And though his better days behind him the memories remain
Of Denny Long of Annagloor a Gaelic Football great
He often gave us reason for to cheer and celebrate
poem by Francis Duggan
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On A Message From Timothy MacSweeney
A message from Timothy MacSweeney a son of Dominic Mac
The proprieter of the Star Ballroom brought the old memories back
Of the long gone nineteen sixties and seventies when i was a young man
When on thursday nights I danced in the Star ballroom 'Where love stories began'.
Dominic's advertisment in the Cork examiner for The Star Club included the caption 'Where love stories begin'
If there were a prize for advertising originality this one would surely win
In the tough game of promoting entertainment Dominic did succeed
One well known and respected and a clever man indeed.
In the Star Ballroom in the sixties and seventies Ireland's best Showbands did play
Joe Dolan, The Royal, The Capitol and Big Tom all big names on their day
The Miami, The Champions and The Dixies, Larry Cunningham and Mick Del
Of the sixties and seventies I have good memories as memory serves me well.
A nice message from Timothy macSweeney one I have yet to meet
Took me back to the sixties and seventies to Duhallow and Millstreet
To the Star Ballroom on thursday night where we danced till after one
Our young years were our best years when all is said and done.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A rare gypsy rarely seen!
A gypsy was left to the mercy of God,
along with her two children in rags.
To give her hell, her husband has left her there.
Dowry or giving birth to only girls,
adultery or ambition to have a shelter
was not the cause for their wrangle.
“ Stop ranting me in filthy words in the bazaar”
She pleaded but he evinced no change.
She complained to the police and he was
driven out of that coastal village.
In the late mid-night, when I went out of my office,
I saw something dark at the verandah
of a class-room nearby.
I walked slowly there with some fear
as small snakes would lie on the sand.
A lady was squatting beside the wall,
huddling together her sleeping children.
“ Don’t stay here. Get lost! ” I shouted.
“ In the morning I’ll go out. Till then, permit me”,
She begged and covered her children with her saree.
“ Get into the room and stay there for the night”,
I said to her to save her kids from the cold.
“ I can’t be a hostess to this village hooligans.
They will hunt me down in this doorless room”.
Her reply made me pity her more.
She told me she would earn some money
by doing some work for wages the next day
and go to a place where her clan are camping.
I promised her a hundred rupees at dawn
and she could go by bus to join her kin.
“ Sorry, I can’t return that money.
So I don’t want it from you”,
She said with all humility.
“ When you become rich, you give it back”,
I muttered with a smile.
“ I can’t be rich. Anyhow I get it in the morning”, she said.
When I went out with a hundred rupee note at sunrise,
she wasn’t there but her children were gathering fruits
under a tamarind tree and they told me
that their mother had gone to clear weeds in fields;
she would be back with money in the evening
and they would go to Tambaram Railway Station
where their grandmother has been living.
“ Oh, the gypsies are far better than others
Who long to have freebies from the government”
I thought myself and smiled.
-------------
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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How fast does time fly by
How fast does time fly by
and with a wink of the eye,
the world has changed.
The time of sweet solitude,
unlocked doors
and little cares are past.
How fast have every thing changed
from a world of promise,
to a world gone wild and mad.
Before I can wipe
the sleep from my eyes,
I find myself in another time and place.
Uneducated people
are running my country,
into the ground.
Kids have no respect
and run their own lives
and use drugs and steal,
live only for themselves
and the here and now
like a bunch of hooligans running amok.
There’s corruption and gangsters everywhere
and hijackers and house invaders
and the police do not really seem to care.
How fast does time fly by
and with a wink of the eye,
the world has changed.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Place To Sit
Smoochers and snoggers, and resting joggers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Ramblers and walkers, and street hawkers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Mini’s and Roller’s, and lady strollers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Old folk and young folk, and dogs with no folk
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Market traders and cavers, and money savers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Children that play who meet everyday
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Students and teachers, and lay preachers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Loose women and boys the ‘for sale’ toys
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Addicts and dealers, and police squealers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Dogs out for a pee who can’t find a tree
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Drunks in the night who like to fight
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Spray painters and doodlers, and bench abusers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Vandals and hooligans, and booted ruffians
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Demolishers and breakers, and obliterators
never stopped until they destroyed this concrete bench.
poem by Orlando Belo
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A poem for Football lovers
Football can make you cry
it can also bring you joy
I've played and watched it
as a man and a small boy.
Football has great players
like the one and only Messi
the Argentinian is a genius
I wished he played for Coventry.
Football is the favourite sport
no other game comes anywhere near
in the U.K.it's the number one pastime
just beating fishing and drinking beer.
Football though can be an addiction
it can be on your mind all of the day
your thinking about goals, shots, and saves,
and even talking about it to God when you pray.
So long may Football be played on our planet
even though it has trouble along the way
but just think if there was no Football at all
us fans would have nothing to do on a Saturday!
poem by Kevin Halls
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John Buckley
John Buckley lived in Mushera upon the higher ground
A quiet and decent person his nickname 'John The Pound'
For the Aubane Gaelic Football Club he played Gaelic Football
Back in the nineteen sixties as I can well recall.
He never harmed anyone lived in the honest way
And respect to his memory his friends and family pay
Perhaps in his early seventies and it does seem sad to say
That with the dead of Millstreet his remains forever lay.
In the famous Aubane colours some great games he did play
Till the years too crept up on him and time does tick away
A strong and sturdy fellow when he was in his prime
But we all do become victims of ageless father time.
He will never be seen on the high Mushera road by Mushera Hill again
But fond memories of the man he was in the minds of those who knew him will remain
One can only hope that from life his was not a painful release
He was a decent person and may he rest in peace.
poem by Francis Duggan
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We are a bunch of hooligans and anarchists but we do clean up nice. … Look around, ladies and gentlemen, because we all have stories to tell and projects we need financed. Don't talk to us about it at the parties tonight. Invite us into your office in a couple days, or you can come to ours, whatever suits you best, and we'll tell you all about them. I have two words to leave with you tonight, ladies and gentlemen: "inclusion rider".
quote by Frances McDormand
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Grieving Widow
From the cemetery in Cameron Street she's a short walk away
And often at her husband's grave for his soul she does pray
An old miner of the black coal two years ago he died
Soon she will go to join him to lay forever by his side.
Her husband in his mid seventies when the Reaper for him came
And without her one true soul mate life for her not the same
They migrated to Wonthaggi in their early twenties in nineteen fifty three
He was her childhood sweetheart back home in Italy.
The saddest time of her life has been the last two years
She still grieves for her husband for him she still shed tears
Even at the mention of his name the tears come to her eyes
The stonger the bond of love is the sadder the goodbyes
Her son and daughter in Wonthaggi to her they live quite near
And stories of her old Homeland her grand kids love to hear
She tells them of the happy times their grand dad and her did know
When they were young in Italy so many years ago.
At her husband's grave in Cameron Street she says a silent prayer
A woman in her mid seventies with a silvery head of hair
And tears are welling in her eyes at her memories of the past
But no one lives forever and nothing ever last.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Suppose Football Does Serve A Purpose
Suppose football does serve a purpose some males do need other interests in their lives
Than working or drinking of alcohol or arguing with or making love to their girl friends or wives
On saturday they go to the football to cheer on their team win or lose
'Tis better for them than going to the local and wasting their money on the booze
At least watching football they won't be losing brain cells as they do when they are on the grog
And next day feeling nauseated and hung over and as sick as a very sick dog
Their partners and wives happy to see them going to the football for to support their football club
They feel that for them it is far better than guzzling down grog at the pub
In football there can be disappointments when your team does not win the game
But for every winner there is a loser and to lose should never be a shame
There's more to life than grog and work and women there is that marvellous game known as football
To you and many others 'tis a passion and your team to you is the greatest team of all.
poem by Francis Duggan
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No, the seventies was a totally different sensibility and that allowed us to break new ground as a cop show.
quote by Paul M. Glaser
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Odd Person Out
You don't take narcotics or you don't smoke tobacco
And you don't drink spirits, wine or stout
And you are what is known as a cleanskin
But at times you feel the odd one out.
You don't party till late at the weekend
At home you do prefer to stay
Still you are an honourable person
Despite of you what others say.
Some others dismiss you as boring
Because you do not partake in their fun
Your great joy in life is in Nature
A walk by the lake in the sun.
You don't play sports or go to watch football
You go to the art gallery instead
And you write poems and plays and draw pictures
And hundreds of books about Nature you've read.
To most others you are very different
You don't drink alcohol, take drugs or watch football
But 'tis our different interests that make us interesting
And no two are exactly the same after all.
poem by Francis Duggan
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I started to get very well recognized in the early seventies as the only man in the United States who had been elected three times to the board of NOW in New York City.
quote by Warren Farrell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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