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Sunday, 30 January 2011

The beautiful game

A ball in a field with jumpers the goal
Sounding so simple like a park with a stroll
Grassroots, they say, are where it begins
The question, as always, is: tell me who wins?

See power’s where the money’s at
Not Soho Square and tit-for-tat
Feudal infighting: united, oh no
Hearings maintaining the old status quo

Tiring of the misnomer “Big four”
Same title challenge recycled once more
A gullet full of “shocking” cupsets
Tales of woe and spiralled debts

As the fit and proper person’s test
Can be passed whilst under house arrest
Leaving one to diddle as one sees free
Local creditors and HMRC

From playgrounds to playboys shuffling their billions
Players pecking for bread  - the castaway millions
Chasing the paycheck, form mercenary sides
From vampires at head-height to celebrity brides

Politicians and vacillants lend their allegiance
Shifting support for PR convenience
Names for the numbers; it comes down to stats
More bums on seats for the marketing rats

The concessions flog pies as flat as the beer
To as scrambling mob as the whistle draws near
Flanked by shuffling punters queuing to piss
Round islands of drinkers discussing THAT miss

Life’s aspirations channelled through proxy
Bind strangers together like an epoxy
Tribal bands behind each team
Substitute a real-life dream

Enmities set by religion and place
Johnny-come-lately sexism and race
Yet black and white can kick it out
Unified in scapegoat shout

Competing athletes from the kick-off
Give100% to get others sent-off
Refs oft deceived by these diving simulants
Spot-tested conmen denying stimulants

Role models my arse, chasing a ball
Petulant moneybags swaggering y’all
Petulance and snoods a majority
As an example: it don’t cut it d’you see?

Yet at the top of this tree like cats with the cream
Is a cartel so slimy, if you touched them you’d scream
Unctuous, emollient, smelling of fish
Crossed palms smoke and mirrors, granting a wish

Countries jostle in line for the globe’s golden flakes
Russians sprinkled with stardust alongside robed sheiks
Whilst Albion’s big-guns clutch at thin air
Missing the bouquet then sulk: “It’s not fair!”

But sod all the tabloids’ soap opera bickers
Throwaway comments like Panini stickers
A modern-day goldfish bowl, mixed joy and pain
Scorned and derided: I’m a fan, all the same

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