Armchair Manageress

The curious thing about football
Is football’s a victory call
For getting the chaps excited
About really very little at all.

A bunch of blokes in shortses
And shirts in emotive hues
The upshot, though, is obvious.
Yes-One side’s got to lose…

The mud, the sweat, the grass stains
All marks of team endeavour
Singing and swearing and booing and cheering-
Ninety minutes can last for ever…

I’ve learned to pay attention
With the passing of the seasons,
Almost grasped the off side rule,
Can hold my views with reason.

So GET IN!! with the banter
The commentary, the wit
The joy, the disappointment
The roaring of ‘Yoooouuurrr SH*T!!’

But, no. I still don’t get it.
In truth, often regret it-
The way the Game persuades
The mode of weekend days

When football is The Season
There’s total loss of reason,
Intractable myopia,
And a spoke in mutual utopia…

So, much as I wonder
What’s on the other channels,
It’s easier to absent myself
From all the sporting flannel.

I thank the Beeb for Radio 4,
For want of a better solution
To circumvent the boredom:
My own auditory substitution.

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