Football Poets

It was 60 years ago
To the day
Since England proudly
Occupied that iconic spot
At the centre of the universe
We embraced the World Cup
Clutched it to our bosom
Never ever forgotten
Finally the world was our oyster
Far across the churning oceans
Raging seas, distant lighthouses
Then back in the sleepy villages
Where Maypole dancers gathered
For their regular convention
Of joyful feet, throwing
Caution to the wind
Mum, dad, auntie, uncle,
Niece, aunt, boy and girl
We’ve done it
We’d won the World Cup
There you are
You never thought it would
Happen but it did
Finally after 60 years
Of blood, sweat and tears
Demoralising drudgery
And now in hindsight
We look back on those
Eternally triumphant years
And wonder if once again
We’ll ever do it one more time
Before civilisations move
Into future centuries
But at the moment few us much care
Because we’ve had enough
Of broken promises
Agonising quarter
And semi finals
Missed penalties
Grazing crossbars
Clipping posts
If only, conjecture
Was a huge conspiracy
Those pitiful permutations
A vast treasure trove
Of excuses, the weather
Kept playing us offside
But in 1966, the World Cup
Belonged in our dressing room
Our living room
In front of black and white
Goldfish bowl TV sets
And David Coleman
Looked at his sartorial best
Booted and suited
He must have known that
England would finally win
The World Cup for
The very first time
And do you know what?
He was right
After all those decades
Of tortured, distorted
Visions of nothing
Desolate concrete bowls
Wind swept terraces
Creaking and groaning
Desperation and desolation
Cried into its pale ale
And a thousand cups of Rosy Lee
Tea for nobody in particular
But the memories of 1966
Keep us warm and secure,
Cosy and re-assured
Like those snug pubs and
Taverns where soaring
Crescendos of love, joy
Hope, community and
Neighbourhood solidarity
Flowed and rushed
Down from timeless waterfalls
Through the forests and valleys
Yes England, it was our turn
To hold the back page
World Cup winners,
Sir Alf Ramsey so modest
Emotionless and self effacing
He played it all down
Moore, Stiles, the Charlton brothers,
Hunt, Peters, Wilson, Cohen,
Hurst, Banks,
It all felt like destiny
The fickle finger of fate
On our side
Three Lions on the Chest
And then the cameras turned
Towards the old Wembley
The marching bands
This historic, unique occasion
Before drama unfolded
Like those intense kitchen sink
Plays for Today
That the BBC so revelled in
Where the social fabric
Of Britain’s domestic
Families and relationships
Came under the forensic spotlight
Saturday night, Sunday morning
Yes this was the case
In 1966, the World Cup
Fell into our hands
Like the best birthday present
Of all time
Street parties multiplied
By the million
Bunting and currant buns
Overcome with indefinable emotions
Flags and banners draped
Across our back street
Like vivid blackbirds,
Swarming across the blue skies
Balletically in motion
It all though seemed like
Too long ago
We lament the loss
And mourn those empty years
When 1966 seemed like
The day it just materialised
On this golden tapestry of
Our lives
Like mum’s delightful washing line
Union Jacks and St George’s
Forever stitched on our minds