The crack of dawn,
start of your week
in order to obtain tickets from
a favoured website featuring your foot-balling heroes.
Checking timetables, trains, transport –
to carry you to watch your idols.
The trusted burger bar serving sweaty burgers,
and tea to wash them down. Sustenance while you
picture – the anticipated clash.
Solid stone steps show the way to your seat of painful plastic,
rows of seating in rising series,
perfect conformity –
but you won’t be on it that often.
The loudspeaker announces the team line ups,
roar of the mob – for their idols.
The referee’s whistle commences this gladiatorial battle
of our modern age.
The smell of the turf,
the roar of the crowd,
a touch of class,
a flick of elegance,
“ You’re not singing, you’re not singing -You’re not singing anymore!”
This makes all the plans worthwhile
as thousands are reminded,
this is football.