Big J
Tis true about hate that it can be love turned upside down
And Big J a classic example the most bitter man in Town
Since Pam his wife she left him and with her took their five year old daughter Sue
One might say a long holiday the man is overdue.
He feels the World is against him he is always in a bad mood
And about his imaginary wrongs against him he silently does brood
When he is in the bar-room he always drinks on his own
He now ignores his old mates as if them he'd never known.
Tis said that Pam she left him because her he used to beat
And a kinder and more loving man she happened for to meet
But he feels so hard done by to none he says good day
He would rather brood in silence that now his chosen way.
Big J he looks so serious from society he has withdrawn
His life is from work to the pub and he rise for work at dawn
He has resigned from football and from the Football Club
And nowadays he drinks on his own down at the local pub.
poem by Francis Duggan
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He Feels The Time Is Ripe
Where many do live for local renown
The ageing fringe dweller in the old country town
Has never played football with the local club
And always drinks on his own when he is in the pub.
Since he does not talk about the local club's latest loss or win
He remains an outsider and does not fit in
Though he has lived here for ten years as an outsider he remain
The status of a local he has yet to attain.
He feels a decade of his life enough to have spent here
He will move to the bigger town early next year
This not a town for one such as he an artist and a talented man
More suited to a footballer or a football fan.
In the old country town he does not have a friend
And his stay in the place is coming to an end
In his early to mid fifties his best days long gone
And he feels the time is ripe for him to move on.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Just An Ordinary Fellow
His life revolves around work his mates and football
But his wife and children he seldom does talk of at all
Each evening after work he calls to the pub
Or else to the bar-room of the Football Club.
In his early to mid thirties he is well liked in the town
To have kicked five goals in the local Grand Final is his one claim to renown
And though his team did not win the flag he earned his local fame
With a best on ground display on a beaten side he made for himself a name.
His wife takes care of the children a boy of four and a girl of three
She is not well known in the town few as down to earth as she
So different from her husband she's never seen at the pub
And she is not a member of any local club.
He is a well liked character and in the town well known
And the local people say of him he is one of our own
Not a bad husband and father though better than him not hard to find
Just an ordinary fellow in his own way he is kind.
poem by Francis Duggan
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This Is The Football Season
This is the football Season it is that time of year
When men in the pub talk football as they enjoy their beer
And look forward to September when one club will fly the winner's flag
The team that wins the Premiership gives their fans the right to brag.
Their wives nicknamed the footy widows their husbands at the football club
Or after work talking football with their mates down at the local pub
They take football so seriously 'tis their passion in life
The footy fan loves his football club as much as his children or his wife.
And if their team lose at the weekend they feel and look so sad
What's known as football addiction they seem to have it bad
They feel sad for their football team and the chance of four premiership points gone
But they cheer up and look forward to next weekend's game as the working week wears on.
This is the football Season football has gone to their head
And their football scarves and beanies they even wear to bed
About their team they feel so passionate as if to them it did belong
And 'tis with delight and pride in victory that they sing the club song.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Dave
Tired of his long uphill battle in life
And tired of being nagged by his cranky old wife
Dave feels like a bird rejected by his flock
And the chip on his shoulder has grown to a block.
Tired of the fellows he meet at the pub
Waffling on about their football club
The praises of their sporting heroes so many do sing
Sports or sports people for him doesn't do anything.
His wife Lyn and he in ideas far apart
All the love he had for her gone out of his heart
Together under the one roof they may be growing old
But now towards each other they seem very cold.
Their only child a son Sam in his mid twenties lives and works in Japan
One who is successful a clever young man
He feels happy in his life on a distant shore
And they have not seen him for three years or more.
On his own at the Local pub he sits and drinks his beer
Grown men talking of football he does not wish to hear
And when he goes home he must cook his own tea
Since he and his Mrs Lyn do not agree.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Big Mal
This saturday his team were defeated and after the game in the pub
Big Mal was not in the mood for talking or singing the anthem of his club
Beaten by a point in a thriller but he does not take pride in an honourable defeat
To him victory only matter and winning to him always sweet.
Big Mal he has never played football though football plays a huge part in his life
The football team he supports to him as important as his young son or his beautiful wife
When his team as he calls them win he feels happy but losses he finds hard to take
But after each win he feels happy what a difference a victory can make.
Big Mal is a likeable fellow and so much about him to like
He does not drive his car when he's drinking he cycles to and from the pub on his pushbike
He says I need my driver's licence for work and at the weekend to watch my team play
My wife and son and my football team to me most important he say.
This saturday his team were the losers and Big Mal not happy at all
He feels sad on such an occasion and he never talks of football
But he has next weekend to look forward to and next saturday and sunday night
A win in the pub he may be celebrating and laughing aloud in delight.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Football His Diversion
He is not getting on with his unhappy wife
His Football Club his diversion from his problems in life
He looks forward to the weekend through each working day
To cheer on his team such is life some do say.
He and his wife seem to have little in common at all
She does not have any interest in football
And their nineteen year old daughter is living elsewhere
Experiencing life in the big World out there.
With his mates in the pub football stories they share
A diversion for them from their every care
Than football no greater passion in their lives they can name
To them it is more far more than a game.
It would seem love in their marriage it is of the past
But then few things in life ever do seem to last
On saturday he barracks for his team whilst she
Is with her friend in the cafe enjoying afternoon tea.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Locals Are The Premiers
Above the Local oval for twelve months will fly the Premiership flag
The Locals are the Premiers they can afford to brag
Down at the Footy Club they are celebrating and singing the Club song
The fans are in a party mood they will sing all night long.
The Locals are the Premiers the champion team this year
Their fans are celebrating they will drink heaps of beer
Since the final siren was blown today the fans have sung long and loud
The Local team have won the day and have done themselves proud.
Lets hear it for the Premiers a mighty hip hooray
The local football fans are cheering in this their greatest day
For the winners joy and the losers heartache that's life as some would say
Life has it's good and bad times and it has always been this way.
The local football team are Premiers and their fans celebrate
Two decades since the last flag was won but it was a worth the wait
The town pubs are in a festive mood they will party on all night
And down at the Football Club Rooms the fans whoop in delight.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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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A Man With A Mind Of His Own
His praises he does not need others to sing
He lives in his own way and he does his own thing
He has no desire to be popular and well known
One might say a man with a mind of his own
He does not play cricket or golf or football
In fact he's not interested in sports at all
Not a member of any group or of a social club
And he always drinks on his own when he is at the pub
With a primary school going son and daughter and a home loving wife
A man who is happy with his lot in life
A man with a mind of his own in an ordinary town
There's none he looks up to and on none he looks down
He's never harmed anyone and he lives in his own way
He's a true individual of him one might say.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Footy Barracker
He does love his football his meat pie and beer
And when his team win so loudly he does cheer
He talks with his footy mates at the local pub
Of the weekend game and the winning chances of the club
His wife says that football has gone to his head
That his footy beanie he even wears with him to bed
The barrackers lives revolve around work, family the pub and the game
And footy widows for their wives is an often used nickname
And which club barrackers will sing their club song on that big day in September
In a moment for to cherish and until death to remember
For the losers disappointment for the winners sheer elation
And post Grand Final for a week or more great nights of celebration
It will make his year on Grand Final day if his team is the winner
Whilst he is talking footy in the pub his wife is home cooking dinner.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Regular Aussie Bloke
The woman that he married with her new lover having sex
But he does not feel angry in any way with her the one he calls his ex
Though to him she was unfaithful such is life he does say
The past is the past and life goes on and that was yesterday
The marriage only lasted one year she left him two years ago
He has had a few flings since then that to love did not grow
He is now happy in his single life at twenty five in his prime
Of life he feels that for marriage and children on his side he has time
With his mates at the local pub he talks about football
And Aussie Rules their favourite game to them the greatest sport of all
He works hard and enjoys his beer and he can laugh at a joke
And he is what one may describe as a regular Aussie bloke
He tried marriage it did not work out he may well try again
In life you win some and you lose some and one's loss is another's gain.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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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Greg
Greg a man of medium height and build is in his late sixties with the silver of time in his hair
In the early sixties he left his old Hometown in England for to experience life in the big World out there
He never did return to Scunthorpe or again set foot on his old Homeland shore
He grows old in this southern Country where one day his bones will rest forever more.
His only child a daughter has a teenage son and daughter and as for Bella his ex wife
Three years ago she married her lover since he is the great love of her life
And Greg lives alone in a Melbourne eastern Suburb in a two room flat he reside
A kind hearted and honest fellow of far off old England with nothing in his life for to hide.
But his English accent is still with him to his heritage a give away
The tongue of his old Mother Country until his end with him will stay
He lives off of his retirement pension his main interests greyhound racing and Aussie Rules football
With a great memory for names and faces past happenings he can readily recall.
On Saturday evening Greg goes to the Local Pub for a few drinks and a chat with his mates
And the main topic is Aussie Rules football the great games and the footballing greats
He seldom ever talks of England I'm a naturalized Aussie he say
I will live out my years in this Country and in Aussie soil my bones will lay.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Too Old To Work And Too Young To Die
That time catches up on us all is surely not a lie
He is too old to work and he is too young to die
On retirement pension and quite bored with life
He spends much of his time arguing with his wife
On their fortieth year of marriage and love between them long dead
With a son and daughter and seven grandchildren and old age ahead
Since the warm feelings of love in their life has gone cold
They have nothing to look forward to but growing old
He and his wife in their mid to late sixties and their best years long gone
And only the will to live keeps them living on
Years ago they used to walk hand in hand to the park off of the street
But nowadays out walking them one never does meet
On his own in the pub he sits and drinks his beer
Looking rather unhappy and lacking in cheer.
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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The Young Aussie
In the company of women he is not coy or shy
A real macho type is the young Aussie guy
And some young women like him though some young women say
A bit of a boofhead who pushes his way.
He likes to talk cricket with his mates drinking beer
But of God and of religion he does not wish to hear
He does not have a God for to which he can pray
And he is never seen in a church on sunday.
He is a great fan of Aussie Rules Football
To him the one true game and the best game of them all
On friday night he goes to the football and on saturday to the pub
And on sunday evening he drinks in the Sportsman's Club.
The young Aussie bloke he doesn't use words like date
His woman to him she is more of a mate
On saturday night at the disco for five hours or more
He parties and drinks till the small hours of four.
Though much his own man in him there is much good
And the young Aussie he would help you if he could
But don't mention God to him for he will only say
That only the impressionable to the unseen do pray.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Working Man Is A Decent Man
The working man never daydreams of wearing the boss's shoes
But in the pub with his good mates he does enjoy his booze
And he enjoys their every chat of life and of football
Since politics and World affairs doesn't interest him at all.
Devoted to his family and devoted to his wife
The working man is a decent man he leads a moral life
To watch their favourite football team in action he often takes his family
So easy going and down to earth and of any cares he's free.
You never do hear him complain of how times are quite tough
That his wife and family are happy and well for him is good enough
His ancestors like him of working stock they never craved renown
They are amongst the great unsung who helped to build the town.
He gets up in the gray of dawn for work each working day
Let's hear it for the working man a rousing hip hooray
Two of his children are in primary school his youngest for school too young
In his early thirties in the prime of life one of the town's unsung.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Town Poets
They have the ticket draw for the football club
But never a poets hour at the local pub
'Twould seem that cricket and football are the in thing
And horse racing at the back end of the Spring
But of course the Town poets have their own poetry night
On saturday evenings at the bowling club rooms their poems they recite
The local lovers of poetry their night out enjoy
To watch local favourite poets such as Rina, Kate and Roy
Reciting their poetry and strutting their stuff
It cannot be said of them not quite good enough
Quite talented poets the tops of the Town
Young poets in their thirties who dream of renown
And recite their poems in the rooms of the bowling club
Whilst it's a different scene at the Town's biggest pub.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On The Poverty Line
A mother and grandmother near the end of her life
To an unworthy fellow she was a good wife
Without provocation her he often did beat
But at least she feels happy she is not on the street
As a homeless person struggling for to make ends meet
Without a roof over her head and with little to eat
And though she cannot afford to go out for to wine and to dine
She feels happy to live on the poverty line.
The hard life has left her with lines on her face
But poverty she is happy to embrace
One of the people by society forgot
But she is not one to complain of her lot.
For millions and millions life is so unfair
And so many more like her in the big World out there
For millions a huge struggle just to get by
For success they no longer bother to try.
Her ex husband left her for a younger woman a decade ago
She is better without him that much she does know
She took his abuse and his every blow
But any bitterness towards him she never does show.
She lives as a good person and spiritually pure
But she does not know how it feels to live as financially secure
She never eats out never tasted good wine
The one who exists on the poverty line.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Young David The Under Fourteen
With the local football club he plays under fourteen
In their football colours the black, brown and green
He dreams in the A F L he will star one day
Against Australia's finest he will be picked to play.
Everytime I see young David he's with the egg shaped ball
Playing by himself or with other boys in the park for his age he is tall
His dream is to play as number one ruckman for his favourite team Geelong
Enjoying a great victory as he sings the Club song.
Most boys of his age have a wish or a dream
To win a gold medal or play with a top football team
But not all dreams do come true everyone can't know fame
Still it is nice to dream of great things just the same.
He is the top ruckboy in his football team
And as a player of promise he knows local esteem
But few good juvenile players into great players grow
And young David he still has a long way to go.
poem by Francis Duggan
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