Soccer Severance

On the first day of the holiday
My true love said to me,
“I’m going down the pub to watch the football.”
And so it was the day began,
Him being such an avid fan
Focused on his tribal call
With me trying not to look
Though truth be told, he didn’t see,
Transfixed by trailers on TV
Which, not infrequently,
Really rather vexes me…
His world so definitely round
Inevitably to be found
On some ersatz Elysian field,
Results as yet to be revealed
-Or maybe I just missed that part?
I really do not have the heart
To show an interest, even small,
In twenty-two blokes
Just chasing a ball,
Never really having grasped
The thrill of watching round things passed
Though not entirely unmoven
When real skills are truly proven…
To me it’s always just a game
Which, in some ways, is a bit of a shame-
I’d like to feel I play my part,
Supporting such transfixing art;
Witty footwork, goal attempts,
Petty squabbles, contretemps…
But don’t get me started on the strips!!
I’ve never seen the like of it-
Hideous colour combinations
*Must* affect players’ motivation?
-And there it is- the rock on the pitch,
The tiniest, unexpected glitch…
I’ve watched so much
It seems I’ve acquired
Supporters’ Perspective
Without the attire.
I wonder though, from time to time
If this beloved man of mine
Would notice if I should go missing
His eyes fair glued to television.
So, dear Father Christmas,
If you love me at all
Is there any possibility
Of moderating football?
Begging your consideration
For women across our sporting nation
Howzabout culling Match Of The Day
Over the Christmas holiday…?


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