En.Citatepedia^®.ro

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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The Football Fan

They love their football team
their loyalty is never in doubt
they rarely ever miss a match
from the stands they scream and shout.
Even when the teams playing poor
and their favourite player is off key
that will never stop them from going
as the ground is where they want to be.
Football is always on their minds
they think about it night and day
non football fans think they must be crazy
watching men kicking a ball home and away.
Relationships can become strained and tense
as football takes the leading role
partners can become irritable and even jealous
when the fan talks for hours about a wonder goal.
The fan even dreams of football in their sleep
shouting out and butting the pillow with their head
they jump up and down as if they've scored a goal
and kick their partner out of the bed.
Yes the football fan is a breed apart
slightly eccentric and a thick skinned soul
when all that matters to them in life
is seeing their favourite player score a winning goal!

poem by Kevin Halls
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Those Legs That Once Could Run So Fast

Those legs that once could run so fast feel heavy now and slow
He sure is not the man he was some forty years ago
He played football with his young mates he drank till pub closing time
But that was many years ago when he was in his prime,
On looking back the decades time seems to have gone fast
He had his good days one must suppose though nothing seems to last
And time catches up on all of us though some with hair dye cover their gray
But Mother Nature on us all does have the final say,
Forty five years ago he was the hero of the local Football team
In the cup final he kicked the winning goal a boost to his self esteem
By his team-mates he was shouldered from the field of play the cheers for him rang loud
And thinking of his glorious hour still makes him feel so proud
And now at night he sits at home with his ageing and forgetful wife
And time is catching up on him one might say such is life.

poem by Francis Duggan
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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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Fighting The Odds

It was a wet fall day.
Leaves falling off the trees as if they were helicopters landing on the ground.
I was on my way to me final soccer game of the season.
I was not sure if I would be playing or not because my temperature was 100 degrees.
My head felt like a 100 pound weight pushing me to the ground.
But I had to play because I had started every game in goal and I was just not able to let my team down on the undefeated season and the division title.
I was dizzy and felt like I was just been pushed around on a spinner at the local park. It was a feeling that I will never forget, it has been 5 years and I still remember this feeling.
The referee blew the whistle to show that the game was over after the 70 minutes of harsh play.
My team was as happy as winning a lottery!
After the game we took a team photo by the goal with everyone one holding up one finger to show that we are number one.
Everyone was as excited as can be because our team was not expected to do this well this season.
In the ending I had to have brain surgery because I had a rare sickness called encephalitis.
But it was worth playing in the rain playing a game I will never forget.

poem by Nick Jumic
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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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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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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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Football A Game.

What a name called?
Football a game called,
To known arena called stadium,
Played eleven to eleven side to side each,
Formations of it kinds,
Aims of a two goal post net,
Aims of a trophy,
Aims of winning,
In a color Jersey of its kinds,
In a color booths of it kinds,
Side to side balls picking sons round,
Spectators sat rounding pitch watching,
Centered with a nominated referee officiating,
Lined with a two lines men flagged,
Officials of substitutions in questions,
Pronounced by named commentators,
Red and yellow cards rules in question,
Supported keys of volunteers,
Supported with all sorts of supporters,
Declared a stadium manager jobs,
Declared a team manager jobs,
Host the nations, Host the world,
At moment of a country designated!
At moment of a country authorized!
Called for all practitioners....
Photographers, Cinematography, Press, Medias, Adverts, Sponsors, critics, etc. centred.

What a name called?
Football! football! ! football! ! !
A rounded leather circled!
Circled in its color of its choices,
Declared fifa authorities,
Declared statistical over all game,
Respect covered face to face,
Stretchers officials in uniforms of its officials medications,
Football a game called,
With boots of its kinds worn,
Saddled a whole lot supporters,
Saddled a whole lot analysts,
Presumption for a nation's glory,
Preemptive individuals' desirably for survival,
Football a game called,
Called to the passionate in spirit,
Football a game called,
Embrace understanding to unnamed,
Embrace love to unloved,
Embrace unity to diversities,
Embrace creativity to un-creativity,
Football a game called,
Adore a nature,
Football a game called,
Called to a glorious home,
Football a game called,
A rounded leather circled!
With boots of its played,
With jersey of its kinds,
With choices of many kinds,
Football a game called.

poem by Bunmi Orogun Samuel
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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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The Young Fellow Next Door

The young fellow next door barracks for Hawthorn
And after school he kicks the egg shaped ball
He wants to be as great as Jason Dunstall
And that his name football historians will recall.

He wants to don the brown and gold of Hawthorn
And star in a grand final winning team
But the road ahead won't be easy for Tony
If one day he's to realize his dream.

If he is to be a great footy player
He must train hard for twelve months every year
He must impress the coaches and football scouts
And stay well clear of narcotics and beer.

The young fellow next door says he'll be famous
And that for the Hawthorn Football club he'll Play
And that he will be the talk of all Australia
Ten years from now on the grand final day.

A nine year old with big dreams is the schoolboy Tony
He says i'll be an Aussie sporting great
And i will lead Hawthorn back to glory
And the footy fans my name will celebrate.

On every street there is one like young Tony
Who has this dream of an enduring fame
Who is the hero of the great Grand Final
And kicks the famous goal that wins the game.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Football crazy Football Mad

That's all you ever think about
football, football, football,
well that's it now I've had enough
I'm packing my bags and I'm off.
Well what can you do?
she's obviously made up her mind
but what a time to leave me
in the middle of a match on T.V.
How insensitive is that?
she knows it's a massive game
now I've just missed a fantastic goal
then again she's always been selfish.
She has never really forgiven me
for cancelling our honeymoon
but how could I go away
when we had a relegation battle going on?
Can't believe it she's taken the dog
still the second half should be good
and tomorrow me and the lads are going away
if the team wins we get promotion.
Still it's not the end of the world is it?
We can always get promotion next season
but I still can't understand why she's left me
wow, what a brilliant goal!

poem by Kevin Halls
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The Woman Five Doors Down

The woman five doors down tells me her son Ted is the best player in the school football team
And that one day he will play in an A.F.L. Grand Final and that more than once of late she's had this dream
Of watching him receive the Coleman medal for best on ground on football's biggest day
Watched by well over ninety thousand people who cheer him on with a loud hip hooray.

But locals who know of football and watched Ted play say he will never play at the top grade
That he won't go down Swanston Street in the back of a lorry
to loud applause in the Grand Final Parade
They say his mother greatly over rates him and that in his team he's just an average player
And that not one in his club will play A.F.L. football with good under age players they do not compare

Ted's mother believes her son will be a football hero and she seemed so convinced that she convinced me
But others who have seen him play say different and with her opinions they do not agree
They say that she will end up disappointed that her dreams for her son will not come true
That he won't make a career out of football another line of work he must pursue.

The woman five doors down tells me her son Ted will one day play in the famed M.C.G.
And be the hero of a great Grand Final in a game that will go down in history
And though others seem to think that she's only dreaming I hope her son will be a football great
And that she will applaud him in the Grand Final and the football fans his name will celebrate.

poem by Francis Duggan
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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
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You And I (And Two Football Teams)

you and i
met not long ago

you and i
were a thing of love
we were idolized by all

then the day came
you cheated on me
with the football team

what happened?
to you and i?
i didnt expect you to do this
i let my guard fall

and now as the open woulds bleed through
my heart cant take any more
but as the days go on without you
the wounds do not close
do not heal

my heart weakens more and more
then i heard
you slept with the visiting football team
the same night
as you slept with our home team

i cant take this anymore
you betrayed me
and our home football team

you slept with the visiting team
this is the final blow to my heart
as i walk into your house
i load my nine

i walk into your room
and look you in the eye
despite the other 3 men there
i empty my entire clip
into your slim tan body

i save one bullet
to end my hearts pain
the other 3 men
long gone now
i am now with you
and you are
with only me

we ended up together
yet again
just you and i

poem by Ground Sniper
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A Memory From 85

I've always thought that Gaelic Football was a grand and a sporting game
But after witnessing a match between Rockchapel and Kiskeam
Played in the Gaelic Playing Field half a mile from Knocknagree
The uglier side of Gaelic Football was all brought home to me.

'Twas Duhallow B league final on an evening in July
And with little to enthuse about for a neutral such as I
A scrappy game of football and the language it was crude
And both sets of supporters were mouthing loud and rude

And I watched on in silence and I could not feel amused
When a linesman by an old Rockchapel mentor was abused
And one could feel the tension rising and things were boiling to a brawl
And 'twould not be a night for sportsmanship or classical football.

And worse was to come later and an ugly sight to see
A young Rockchapel player assaulting the referee
And when he received his marching orders and refused to leave the field
The ref to intimidation rightly refused to yield.

The ref blew the final whistle with Kiskeam to the fore
They had won a tarnished victory by a mere five points to four
In a brutal game of football they'd survived a gruelling test
But at kicking and at mouthing they had come out second best.

'Twas a sad night for Gaelic Football and Duhallow's night of shame
And I'm not pardoning Kiskeam they must partly share the blame
But for a cup and set of medals and with little else at stake
For their attitude and thuggery Rockchapel took the cake.

The ref's motor van was interfered with and a door lock it got broke
By a wild man from Rockchapel a half crazed gray haired bloke
And this rowdy behaviour over a game of ball
It's no wonder I felt sickened fairly sickened by it all.

I've always thought that Gaelic football did not have an ugly side
That the players and spectators on their native game took pride
But now I know quite different and I see things differently
Since that Duhallow local derby game that was played in Knocknagree.

poem by Francis Duggan
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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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He Is Such A Joyful Winner

He is such a joyful winner but he does not like to lose
His favourite team won at the weekend so he went on the booze
He could not go to work today he feels fuzzy in the head
And nursing his hangover he lay at home in bed.

A football mad young person he surely loves the game
To be the Club's best barracker is his great claim to fame
At every goal his team kicks he whoops aloud in joy
The man in his late twenties at heart remains a boy.

His beanie in his Club Football colours to bed he even wear
His Club as important to him as his wife and children his type no longer rare
In the pub with his drinking mates their main topic is football
The great players and the winners and the losers of the weekend games they recall.

His team won at the weekend but he is in bed today
For too much celebrating his price he has to pay
He proudly wears the Club colours of his favourite football team
And every victory that they have good for his self esteem.

poem by Francis Duggan
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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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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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Goal Goal Goal

the world
like the football field
is not for one
to say one is best
but to show
why one is best
brains, legs,
hands, eyes,
hair, balls, flags
and all
a goal is all
that counts
goal goal goal

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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