Goalkeeper Joe
Joe Dunn were a bobby for football
He gave all his time to that sport,
He played for the West Wigan Whippets,
On days when they turned out one short.
He’d been member of club for three seasons
And had grumbled again and again,
Cos he found only time that they’d used him,
Were when it were pouring with rain!
He felt as his talents were wasted
When each week his job seemed to be
No but minding the clothes for the others
And chucking clods at referee!
So next time selection committee
Came round to ask him for his sub
He told them if they didn’t play him,
He’d transfer to some other club.
Committee they coaxed and cudgelled him
But found he’d have none of their shifts
So they promised to play him next weekend
In match against Todmorden Swifts.
This match were the plum of the season
An annual fixture it stood,
‘T were reckoned as good as a cup tie
By them as liked plenty of blood!
The day of the match dawned in splendour
A beautiful morning it were
With a fog drifting up from the brick fields
And a drizzle of rain in the air.
The Whippets made Joe their goalkeeper
A thing as weren’t wanted at all
For they knew once battle had started
They’d have no time to mess with the ball!
Joe stood by the goal posts and shivered
While the fog round his legs seemed to creep
'Til feeling neglected and lonely
He leant back and went fast asleep.
He dreamt he were playing at Wembley
And t’roar of a thundering cheer
He were kicking a goal for the Whippets
When he woke with a clout in his ear!
He found 'twere the ball that had struck him
And inside the net there it lay
But as no one had seen this ‘ere ‘appen
He punted it back into play!
'Twere the first ball he’d punted in anger
His feelings he couldn’t restrain
Forgetting as he were goalkeeper
He ran out and kicked it again!
Then after the ball like a rabbit
He rushed down the field full of pride
He reckoned if nobody stopped him
Then ‘appen he’d score for his side.
‘Alf way down he bumped into his captain
Who weren’t going to let him go by
But Joe, like Horatio Nelson
Put a fist to the Captain’s blind eye!
On he went 'til the goal lay before him
Then stopping to get himself set
He steadied the ball, and then kicked it
And landed it right in the net!
The fog seemed to lift at that moment
And all eyes were turned on the lad
The Whippets seemed kind of dumbfounded
While the Swifts started cheering like mad!
'Twere his own goal as he’d kicked the ball through
He’d scored for his foes ‘gainst his friends
For he’d slept through the referee’s whistle
And at half time he hadn’t changed ends!
Joe was transferred from the West Wigan Whippets
To the Todmorden Swifts, where you’ll see
Still minding the clothes for the others
And chucking clods at referee!
poem by Marriott Edgar
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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
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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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You Made Okay To Do It Your Way
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
Why did you choose to pick a ball,
Knowing picking it...
Wasn't cool to do.
You complained,
That you couldn't take the weight.
And a waiting too late makes it okay.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You made okay to do it your way,
To...
Pick then kick a ball.
To,
Pick then kick a ball.
You made okay to do it your way,
To...
Pick then kick a ball.
To,
Pick then kick a ball.
Why did you choose to pick a ball,
Knowing picking it...
Wasn't cool to do.
You made okay to do it your way,
To...
Pick then kick a ball.
To,
Pick then kick a ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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29th February 2012
They all lost faith in the game,
And the hope of winning the game was over!
But, i never gave up;
And i kept on pushing harder towards the goal post;
For in this life,
Nothing is impossible and, impossible is nothing! !
Forward ever!
Without looking at the right side or the left side;
So, i moved forward and kicked the ball into the net!
Then, i scored the goal to win the match.
Yes, we won the game and the Cup was given to me because,
I was the captain of the team.
It was 29th February 2012,
And we won the game at the very lasrt minute to end the game!
Yes, the very time that everybody lost hope in the game;
But i never gave up my hope and, i scored the winning goal! !
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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To Greet, Meet And To Brag
My eyes never left the ball.
Afterall...
I became disciplined to keep my focus on it.
And when I joined on the field with others,
Who made claims they came with aims to play...
In a way to prove with me they could complete.
My eyes never left the ball to reach.
My eyes never left the ball not at all.
And when it was thrown in the air others stared.
But my eyes were right there to catch it...
To run with it and score a goal.
I came on the field prepared to win.
Not to say I just came to play.
Like others who came just to huddle.
My eyes never left the ball. afterall...
I did not come to greet, meet nor to brag,
With embellished exaggerations...
Of what I could do or had done in my past.
My eyes never left the ball...they couldn't.
And I was there on the field to win not pretend,
I came just to play to socialize and go away.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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World Cup Dream
I don’t have a world cup dream
But I love to play Football
I don’t have the master technique
But all for the good of my team
Food ball + food ball + food ball
This word is my life
Sweating and passing the ball
Running fast and finding that opportune hole
As a result, we can say “Goal”
poem by Rajan Thapaliya
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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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A Cricket Ball
A ball spends its time with Time,
Spilling agony, waste and collisions so rightly found;
By this we spoke too loudly of the ball I’m
Spinning like in cricket, and all this sound!
The field caught my ball this over,
Expensive play! Expensive day of my sport.
There needs a container
For this cricket ball, my real important sort.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Switching The Goal Posts
They are against those who oppose everything.
And those who oppose everything,
Are using their position to ensure there is opposition.
While those caught up in between teams,
Have begun to accuse the referee...
For not being more influential in getting both sides,
To play ball and follow the rules!
Instead of switching the goal posts around,
Each time a player gets closer to scoring points.
And anyone intelligent can see they have the best referee.
'Comeon you guys.
People have paid too high of a price,
To be expected to sit and take this much longer.
I think you all have lost sight,
As to why we have been selected to play this game.
If you don't play it my way...
Guess who ultimately suffers the consequences?
And don't look at me.
I am accustomed to being called vulgar names.
Turn around and look at the ones looking at you.
That blame game is about to change! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Kicked Around
Ive been pulled to pieces, Ive got an arm over here,
Ive got a leg over there, Ive got my ass somewhere upside down,
But Im back, Im here to tell you Im back, better than before,
Cant keep a good thing down, uh-uh.
Well Ive been kicked around, never thought that I could fall,
Thought that I was standing tall, turned out I was the ball,
And you know what, and i, and i, and Ive been kicked around,
Baby after all, I took all the shots you called,
Turned out I was the ball, you kicked you pushed.
And Ive been kicked around, and Ive been upside down,
Oh Ive been bounced around, kicked around,
Im gonna get you, get you, your very momma will regret you,
Im going to stomp and drag you to your knees,
Your very papa will forget you, kicked around.
Oh i, oh i, oh Ive been bounced around,
Let me tell you, Im here to tell you,
You can get up, you can put all the pieces back together,
Yeah, dont let him stomp on you baby, get up now!
I said you made me feel so small, bouncing me against the wall,
Just like I was the ball, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!
Oh i, oh i, oh i, oh Ive been kicked around,
Now look at me baby, (trips alone) paved the memories you gave me,
My eyes are open, eyes are open, now I can see,
Youre nothing but a bad, bad memory,
Im all together now, all together now,
Im the biggest ball you ever did see, Im gonna roll on you,
Im gonna fall on you, Im gonna stomp on you,
Im gonna punch on you, Im gonna choke on you,
Im gonna rip you, drag you to your knees,
Your very papa will regret you!
No need to come begging to me, my heart is deaf to your plea,
The hurt you have planted has grown much in me,
Im gonna lie to you, get away from me!
Oh i, oh i, oh i, oh Ive been kicked around,
And Ive been upside down, been kicked around,
Yeah, here I am, Im back, Im all together,
Cant keep a good woman down, Im big and tall,
Listen to me, just listen to me, just look at me,
Im back, here I am, hear me coming....
song performed by by Grace Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Look At The State Of You!
Jumpers down for goalposts
using a plastic ball
playing out in all weather
only stopping at nightfall.
No replica kits on display
No gloves on our hands
No rings or earrings
No girlie Alice Bands.
Covered from head to toe in mud
getting dark score fifteen all
cuts and bruises no shin pads
playing on with punctured ball.
I nod home the winning goal
and we'll all be back next day
'look at the state of you ' shouts Mum
Dad smiles, that'show he used to play.
Back then there wasn't much health and safety
And we weren't ruled by a nanny state
we just had lots of fun playing soccer
which to us football mad lads was great!
poem by Kevin Halls
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Liberia Plays Soccer
When Beckham kicks the ball on a
soccer pitch in England, it
breaks through the opponent’s
defense and slams into the goal post.
It then continues over the heads of the
cheering spectators, over miles of oceans
and seas, and countries, and lands at the
feet of soccer-crazed Liberian men, who
immediately kick that same ball, again and
again, into that very goal post, in their living
rooms, in posh sport lounges, in hot, smelly
video clubs, around the ataye* tables, on the
buses, on the sidewalks. They keep kicking
that ball until somewhere in Europe, Drogba
kicks a different ball, into another goal post.
Then, Drogba’s ball comes to Liberia and the kicking begins anew.
*ataye – a hot drink, popular with Liberian males. The ataye tables have grown into informal political and social forums.
poem by Charlina Daitouah Smith
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Rain And Sunshine!
Rain and Sunshine!
Go for the ball to win the game;
But, when will you surely score the goal needed?
For, the rain comes and,
We are all wet inside.
Rain and sunshine!
Play the ball to win the game;
But, when will you surely score the winning goal? !
For, the rain come and,
We are wet all over.
The sun shines to dry up things,
The rain falls to wet up things,
But at times, it is very hot! !
And, we need the rain to cool down things.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The greatest goal of all time
I've seen lots of great goals
some to take your breath away
I recall one from many years ago
that has stayed with me to this day.
The player had the ball at his feet
cutting through the defence like a sword
beating player after player with ease
the whole ground stood to applaud.
I've witnessed individual goals
and some created by most of the team
but the greatest one I've ever seen?
was by myself in a beautiful lucid dream.
I was playing for England against Brazil
the crowd was roaring out my name
it was the World Cup Final at Wembley
two all with a minute left in the game.
I then tackled and robbed Pele of the ball
and I went on a long and mazy run
it ended with me hitting home the winner
'What a goal' read the headline in the Sun.
I lifted up the Jules Rimet Trophy
got carried round the pitch shoulder high
but when Pele said my goal was the greatest
I just fell to my muddy knees to cry.
It's been said that dreams can come true
and that's a saying I know to be right
because that 'dream' goal I scored at Wembley
was voted best ever goal on the telly last night!
poem by Kevin Halls
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Game of Golf
Golf is my brothers passion, my sister-in laws as well
From where l'm standing Oh! my word it looks like a game from hell
Legs astride back is bent and the arms down all stretched out
Now it's time to hit the ball and give it one good clout
Then they do the walking and try to find the ball
If it's in the right spot then their walking tall
Will they reach the 18th hole without getting in the rough
Will it pour with rain until, they say we've had enough
Will one beat the other, will it end in tears
But then l guess if it gets that bad, they'll down a good few beers
Is it really worth though bending, stretching, hitting
No l'm sorry not for me, l'd rather just be sitting
I guess they'll go on playing, well the fresh air does them good
l'm not so sure about the rest of it, l do not think l could
Walk around in the rain, hitting putting sighing
Little white balls in the air, god, they go a flying
Through the air down the green and in a tiny hole
Only to take it out again, is this really reaching a goal
You'll find them every weekend playing on the green
Wearing funny clothes and shoes, like you never seen
They'll push on round the golf course, until they reach the end
In and out of all them holes, they're clearly round the bend.
poem by Dianne Anderson
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Number Eighteen
She, s real tough and lean
her number is eighteen
when it comes to soccer
she, s no talker
its in her soul
to make another goal
when she, s on the field
she plays hard and doesnt yield
it was such joy
to see her take the ball from a big boy
when she kicked the ball
it soared past them all
without pause or toll
it went into the goal
she, s a little beauty queen
but on the field she, s real mean
she, s my little number eighteen
poem by Ernest Clary
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Animals love Football
It's not just us humans who play football
animals love the beautiful game too
they love nothing more than a kickabout
in fact it's the all the rage in the zoo.
Camels like to hump the ball upfield
Swallows and Swifts love to fly down the wing
Sloths like to take their time on the ball
but kingfishers get booked a lot for diving.
Spiders are good at the offside trap
Cobra's are deadly in a striking role
Crocodiles snap up all the crosses
but Foxes love to play in the hole.
Monkeys like to swing the ball around
Badgers and Bats prefer to play at night
Giraffes are good with very high balls
and Kangaroos are always up for a fight.
Pigs and Hippos love it when it's muddy
but Polar Bears like a pitch covered in ice
Owls are happy with any type of surface
as long as they can mark Voles and Mice!
poem by Kevin Halls
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The Ultimate Hamburger
The great Hamburg football team
is to lay out a cemetery for supporters
next to its pitch – in the form, of course,
of another pitch whose grass
is eternal, whose goal is the final goal…
and then, the appropriate memorial inscriptions:
‘Heinz – the Referee blew time on December 15…’
‘At the end of the day, Gunther,
that’s what it’s all about…’
‘Joshi – scored his final goal on July 3…’
‘Fritz – took an early bath on October 14…’
‘Rikki – good to the last kick…’
‘ Alfi – now shouting in the terraces
on the other side…’
‘ Lorenz – always on God’s first team…’
‘Tomi – called to the great away fixture
in the sky on March 27…’
‘Birgit – my beloved home supporter…’
‘Denni – always in training…’
‘ Klaus – hung up his boots on May 15…’
‘Kurt – a life without a penalty…’
‘Bart – his final match drew to a close…’
‘My beloved Else – a Hamburger
tasty to the last bite…’
‘Reinhold – he played the field until the last…’
I think we’ll blow the whistle on this one now.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Fur And Feathers
The emus formed a football team
Up Walgett way;
Their dark-brown sweaters were a dream
But kangaroos would sit and scream
To watch them play.
'Now, butterfingers,' they would call,
And suck-like names;
The emus couldn't hold the ball
They had no hands, but hands aren't all
In football games.
A match against the kangaroos
They played one day.
The kangaroos were forced to choose
Some wallabies and wallaroos
That played in grey.
The rules that in the west prevail
Would shock the town;
For when a kangaroo set sail
An emu jumped upon his tail
And fetched him down.
A whistler duck as referee
Was not admired.
He whistled so incessantly
The teams rebelled, and up a tree
He soon retired.
The old marsupial captain said,
'It's do or die!'
So down the ground like fire he fled
And leaped above an emu's head
And scored a try.
Then shouting, 'Keep it on the toes!'
The emus came.
Fierce as the flooded Bogan flows
They laid their foemen out in rows
And saved the game.
In native bear and Darling pea
They dined that night:
But one man was an absentee:
The whistler duck, their referee,
Had taken flight.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Another Football Season
Another Football Season has just commenced having said so just the same
A lot of hype and excitement about a field game
For many from their life problems a relief of sorts
Suppose that's why the establishments created sports.
Some things do seem to change little from year to year
Of football fans discussing football one often does hear
They talk of their Club as if the Club they did own
'Tis from people like them that Football Clubs are grown.
They talk of team ratings and player stats and of last weekend's best on ground
And of who their team are due to play in the next round
And the forward with a goal for the taking who kicked a behind
Next week with the seconds a place he may not find.
Another Football Season commencing the barracker's wife
She does feel neglected but then such is life
He knows about Football and the words of the Club song
And his heart to the Club it does surely belong.
poem by Francis Duggan
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