Soccer
I have always liked soccer
such a rough game
Such skills are required
And popluar
You must be strong
and fearless
long kicks to bring you closer
to achieving your goal
of making goals to win the game
heading and saving the ball
is important too
its all about a game called soccer
poem by BOBo ROBbY
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Related quotes
Soccer
Soccer is the game
My life
Soccer gives my fame
it gives my life
Soccer is what make me live
soccer is what makes me give
soccer is the start of it all
soccer is way better then the mall
poem by Courtney Sycowski
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Soccer
I always have liked soccer.
Such a rough game.
Such skills required.
And popular.
Hometown watching,
on Sunday morning.
When one day,
I found that I needed
to withdraw.
It was the honourable
thing to do.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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My love is like a Soccer Game....
My love is Like a Soccer Game
the field is my life I am the player
the ball is my heart and the goal
is you, ill keep hitting the keeper
till the ball gets closer to you...
^^..
poem by Henric Kristoffer Miranda
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I Finally Had The Chance
I finally had the chance
To meet the soccer king in
Portugal after the
Soccer game that I went
To in the
Portuguese soccer stadium
While I visited
Lisbom
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Basketball
What Springfield needs most at their ‘Y, ' so they say,
Is good old athletic distraction
For rowdy boys pinned up inside all the day
By weather below satisfaction.
The teacher from Canada, tasked to design
An inside game, fair but not so rough
To him they have given a brutal deadline:
"Just two weeks or be fired! " And that's tough.
He's chosen the softest of big soccer balls
To not hurt the boys when they get hit,
Peach baskets are affixed high up on the walls
Reducing all rough contact unfit
The rules permit only the passing of balls
No dribbling or batting, to be safe.
And running the ball? Not allowed, lest the falls
Cause the limbs of the players to chafe
The peach basket goals, players never should guard
For the game is not just for the tall
But easy and fair to all, not at all hard
This game by John Naismith- ‘Basket Ball'
The Beautiful Game (soccer)
I love you more than my old soccer cleats,
The ones I’ll never give up.
I love you more than the perfect field,
The one I use to warm up.
I love you more than my soccer ball,
The one that’s perfect for amazing passes.
I love you more than me running along those different types of grasses.
I love you more than the cheering crowds,
The stands made out of plaster.
I love you more than that perfect kick,
That I have yet to master.
I love you more than my soccer cleats the ones that hold all reason.
I love you more than my coach, my soccer team and my season.
I love you more than winning that world cup,
That we have yet to reclaim.
I can’t believe I love you more than the beautiful game.
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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EndAround
If the endaround gets in the open and the balltosser does not get killed the sideline washer will come into the game. Then the seventeen minutes will last longer then ever and seem like forever the men with the whistles will forfeit the flag the chain pullers come the ball is then moved to a different line.
In soccer the rules are different the endaround is the tommyboy.
The balltosser becomes the place kicker. The sideline washer is Jenifer she takes up the seventeen minutes. The men with the whistles have none they are called the ref. The chain pullers become the balltossers. They toss the ball out. The tommyboy catches the ball in both games. The place kicker heads. Jenifer smiles and forfeits the flag she is the ref in this game. The place kicker is dead.
Football and Soccer End around came.
poem by Charles Hice
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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
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God Works in Circle
a ball lover
is our god
a soccer player
he is
the whole universe
his field
the planets,
the stars,
our earth
all shuttling
through space
like balls
shove from
one corner
to the other
our heads,
our eyes,
the balls
that the gods
give us
to play
all
the games
in his world
the moon
in its
lunar journey
round and round
good and bad
too come
in a circle
what goes around
comes around
kindness begets kindness
do bad and
it comes back
in a circle
cos our god
is a lover of
a ball game
start walking anywhere
in the universe
and you get back
to your own place
cos our god
loves the circle game
the circle game
the circle game
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The National Game Of Australia
The National game of Australia is Australian Rules Football
And the Aussies who love their game say 'tis the greatest game of all
Soccer, Rugby Union and Rugby League and Cricket have their roots elsewhere
But no truer Aussie sportsman than an Aussie Rules footy player,
A game born on Australian soil it surely is Australia's own
And the legend of great footy players in their deaths has even grown
In September at the famed M C G in Melbourne on A F L Grand Final Day
Close to one hundred thousand people flock to watch Australia's best teams play
Though many like both codes of rugby and cricket and soccer a game that is played Worldwide
Australia's National game is Aussie Rules to many that's a source of pride
The National Game of Australia and it's great claim to fame
Is that it was born and bred in Australia and is the only true Australian Game
And it surely is a true Aussie as Aussie as can be
And though some others may like introduced games far better with what I say many would agree.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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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Soccer Girl
She gets out there and hustles
She does her very best
It’s all about the teamwork
And winning is her quest
Pretty as a picture
She could be most anything
But for now she’s chosen soccer
And working hard for her team
Pony-tail is flying
The ball is flying too
She’s got those rules down good
And she knows just what to do
So come on folks and watch the game
If you want to see the best
A girl who could be a beauty queen
But soccer is her quest!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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Black Forest
Welcome to the winter soccer in South Africa,
With 'Vuvuzelas' to great you all over in the 'Black Forest'!
For the muse of the African is now noted by all.
To the slums of Cape Town,
Believe in yourself and kick the ball!
For our story is now to the world.
Do your best no matter what,
For the winter soccer went with the hand gloves!
And of the noise from the 'Vuvuzelas' to respect at last,
For that was part of the game.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Pick Up Game First One To 11 By 1's
fOR ME TO WIN IT HAS TO BE SOMETHING IN IMPORTANT.
WHY DOES HE HAS RUBBER BANDS ON HIS ARMS, THAT QUESTION SHALL BE DISCOVER AS YOU GROW WE THE GAME.
ILL STOLE IT THREE TIME IN ONE GAME, HES A BIG MAN BUT THE SCORE 7-11, COME MY PEPS DONT LET ME IMPRESS YOU INN FRONT YOUR PEOPLE, THAT COULD BEEN ON A HIGHLIGHT REEL
GETTING SHUT OUT IN GAME TO 11 YOU KNOW HE'S NOT GOING GET A NOTHING GAME.
tHE GAME OF BASKETBALL IS ALL ABOUT RESPECT,
THE ULTRAMENT RESPECT IS TO GIVE NO RESPECT,
WHEN IT COME TO THE GAME OF BASKETBALL.
thats how you gain respect! ! ! !
AND IM HURT AND STILL TOOK YOUR MAN GAME YOU TELL ME WAS WE PLAY TO A ELEVEN OR WAS I JUST TAKE YOU SCHOOL.
talking about running the city, we talk about that later after your lesson
BECAUSE IF IT WAS A GAME FULL COURT FIVE ON FIVE AND IT GAME BASE ON STRAGTEY NOT SKILL WHO DO YOU THINK WOULD WIN.
RESPECT IS GIVING WHEN YOU SHOW IT, CHECK IS IN,
BALL PLAY.
poem by Louis Borgo
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Soccer
Soccer is the game of my life
Playing every game like it's my last
One half at a time
Running is how I cool down
Tying is no way to finish
Success is what I play for
poem by Shaune Gorman
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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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Zinnedine Zidane
One of the all time great players a head butt to an opponents chest caused him shame
And with such a cloud hanging over him he retires from the World game
A magician with the soccer ball his likes we may not see again
He will always be remembered as the great Zinnedine Zidane.
'Twas an alleged personal insult that got him all fired up
And with his dismissal went the great dream of France's second World cup
But he will be remembered and football fans will long recall
One of the all time masters of the World game of football.
For one moment of loss of self discipline he must wear a lifetime taint
But is there one amongst us who can claim to be a saint
You will not find many people despite what some might say
Who will turn the other cheek and from insult walk away.
For his skills a lasting impression on so many he did make
And his deeds on the football field from him one cannot take
He will always be remembered as an all time great
In the World game of football with the very best he rate.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Tis Football
'Tis football is the big World game of today
Grid Iron the big game of the U S of A,
Rugby League, Rugby Union and Aussie Rules Football
And soccer the biggest World game of them all
Gaelic Football a field game the Irish do play
Football in it's many codes the big World game of today
Football supporters Worldwide their team and their club colours wear
And in International games in their National colours they even dye their hair
Some men love their football team as much as their parents, children or wives
Yes football is one of the great loves of their lives
When their team does win the club song they do sing
But a loss to their weekend great sadness does bring
All over the World many codes of football
And to each their own code the best game of all.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Ballad Of “Willie, Bar The Door.”
In the town of Limavady,
I would have you all to know,
William Cummings he was born
A true son of the Roe.
And in that lovely valley
Near to Benevenagh’s feet,
“Willie, bar the door” gave
Many a soccer treat…
For roared on by his public
Throughout the fair north west
This humble Irish sportsman
Put others to the test.
And sure ‘twas in his lifetime
A legend he became
One of the best defenders
In the skilful soccer game.
And many were his exploits-
Oh! far too many to relate!
For on and off the field of soccer
To serve others was his fate.
Alas, William now has left us
But his memory still lives on,
In the hearts of those who knew him
And who loved him as their own.
And sure whenever soccer’s played,
In public park or moor,
We of his generation
Will remember “Bar the door”.
poem by Liam ó Comáin
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