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Wednesday 30 July 2014

Match of the Night

The cathedral is empty; the sermons have ended
The choir’s ethereal echoes have faded
No congregation here for seven more days
No tussle, no evil, no home or away

The floodlights are off now, the dank of the night
Re-devours its kingdom, extinguishes light
Which once fired up emotions of thouands of fans
Clad in replica shirts made in far Eastern lands

For a pittance in sweatshops, imported for more
And sold at huge profit in the club’s own store.
In the studio Alan and Ronald and Desmond
Take stock of the game and the goals and the tension.

DES: Alan, you know when that first goal went in
It was one heck of a strike, wasn’t it? What d’you think?
ALAN: Yes Des, he’s had so much time to control it
The defenders should get closer, get a block on it,

It’s a great hit of course but you know when it went in
You have to say that it was shocking defending.
DES: Ron, it was two nil immediately after –
To concede so quickly, is it a disaster?

RON: I know Alan was shouting and screaming
To be honest, I understood how he was feeling
The centre-half’s gone walkies but the this striker’s unique
From that angle to score – he’s got brilliant technique.

He’s opened his legs there, done his lollipop trick,
Give the goalie the eyes there, right on the back stick,
It’s a Hollywood ball to him from Stevie G
And he’s stuck it away, that was something to see.

But as for the lad who was on the back post
Just what he was doing? He should have got close.
The striker’s six foot but the full back is bigger.
In some schools they’d call him a fuDES: Sorry to stop you in full flow big man
But Garth’s got an interview just under the stand.

GARTH: Thanks Des, I’m here with the Ullapool boss
But first I must define ‘winning’ and ‘loss’
From a Cartesian point of view, Paul, what did you think
Or indeed if you do think, if thinking exists
Or does not. Was it Kant who once wrote in grace
That perception relied on inference of space
Albeit that we can’t see it we sense it’s there
Like Xavi did last week against Osasuna?
Or is it, bear with me, the theory you favour,
Like Karl Marx said about control of labour
Would you say, Paul, that football is very much the same,
You control the ball and you control the game or
Conversely in Keynseyan terms is it then, thus,
That demand and production are not linked as such
And on the pitch the ball is the flow of the cash
The goals the demand, the players the banksDES: Sorry to butt in Garth, you’re on a roll
But it’s the end of the programme about our football
To the viewers, thanks for watching, see you next week
Enjoy this new visit to Corrie - The Street.

The theme music plays. It’s a jaunty old tune
Got to number one during World Cup ‘92
The adverts change now; from beer to tea
From new boots to slankies to cruises at sea

Back at the ground the atmosphere is eerie
Too big to be silent, the emptiness really
An absence. From here, the pitch looks so big
Yet diminished. No studs, no flobbing, no sick

As a parrot, no over the moon, no remorse
At the missed open goal that would have changed the course
Of the game. Yet such moments live on in the minds
(Or the Sky Plus) of supporters biding their time

Til next game, where all’s zeroed, it’s 0-0, let’s go,
This time lads, let’s focus, put on a real show,
Perform how you can and we’ll get our deserts
Or next week, son, you’re sub for the fucking reserves.

The congregation’s gone; there’s more places to worship
More lifetimes and lovers and pains and amidst it
Comrades and enemies, two sides of a coin
Different colours outside, but all bleed just the same

From a last minute goal in a 2-1 defeat
An encompassing burning from bruised brain to feet
But despite the despondency, all the folks still know
They’ll be back for the next game to cheer on their heroes

The lights are all off now; the seats yawned and shut,
The gates locked, the ad boards turned off, just about,
A blackbird alights on the pitch for a second,
Looks around, finds nothing, cawks once.

Echo,

                                         echo.


                                                                 Ec
                                          Echo.


The lads in the studio’ve gone to the bar
To josh and to banter of golf games and cars
Supporters flop on to their couches and chairs
A quick beer, or cuppa, then pad up to beds.


But back at the ground, can we see?
In the distance, yes, we must look carefully:
With furrowed brow and too many adjectives to mention
It’s Garth on his own: still not finished his question.

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