MR FOOTER’S

FOOTLOOSE WANDERERS VERSES

  

THEIR BACK FOUR

Their back four have kick-off nerves,

Their back four haven’t played for awhile;

Their back four have no tank reserves -

Too many nights spent on the tiles.

Their back four must keep it tight,

Their back four must hold their patch;

They’ll get stuck in and battle all right,

They’ll curse and swear all through the match.

Their back four look tired and lazy

Their back four must watch for threats

Like CY AWOMM-BA he went crazy

The ball hit him and went in their net.

Their back four are not pursuing

An eager forward who’s well offside;

Their back four have gum for chewing,

A stack their sponsors have supplied.

Their back four are big and tall,

Their back four are tough as bricks;

Their back four have nerves of steel,

Their back four know all the tricks

For all of them they fear that fumble,

But MICK Mc GOVERN knows his stuff;

He fakes a push, he stays down, grumbles,

So long as the ref doesn’t call his bluff.

Their back four have wives and girlfriends,

And big AL CHAPMAN likes it hot

That now he has to make amends

With Baines’ girl he does a swap.

Then RONNIE BAINES is much aggrieved,

His number’s up, given the boot;

And from the cut-up pitch he leaves

Now the spare has his fling our substitute.

G.F. Phillips

PABLO LORENZO:  THE FRONTMAN

‘Pab is the man – he’s fab.’

PABLO LORENZO he loves to turn solo,

He thinks the play revolves around him;

I don’t have to mention he loves the attention,

It’s a centre forward’s old thing.

He’s the one they most cheer when he’s called to appear

For the number 9 shirt claims respect,

And to lead from the front and be a great hunk,

It’s everything the fans expect.

And him they will flatter, buy the one shirt that matters

And the kudos he’ll get from it,

For he loves all this fuss and he can’t get enough

And his goals are all riding on it.

And then on occasions comes the art of persuasion

In close season, whenever he can;

He’s the number one pet for an ad man’s choice set

For this booked in Adonis man’s man.

So whatever he’s selling he’s utter compelling,

Which he sells from his head to his toes,

Like he takes a big swig of a sugar-free fib

From a health drink his fans buy in droves;

And he’ll open his armpits the bad smell he sprays it,

And the tin he must leave on parade.

So his earning potential is something quite special

Meaning twice that he’s got it made.

But no one will quibble so long as his dribbles

Are most un-mistakenly sound;

But the training regime is not just the team

For it’s all built round him so they’ve found.

Now he’s the Messiah you cannot get higher;

But then when he’s gone to ground

There’s a chance there’s a sniff there’s no but or if

His trajectory must go at least goal-bound.

But under his charge things are often enlarged

Much more than reality;

And though he works wonders there’s many a blunder

That’s forgotten with the ecstasy.

G. F. Phillips

 JOHNNY SPRY:  GOALKEEPER FOR FOOTLOOSE WANDERERS

Johnny Spry’s between the sticks, his second name’s The Lynx,

He’ll prowl around the six-yard box then stares out like The Sphinx.

He’s great at making hefty kicks the ball he belts quite far

And when there’s nothing doing he’ll swing along the bar

Until he’s out to grab the ball that’s spinning through the air,

The way he leaps and soars is more than high jumpers would dare.

Oh, Johnny Spry! Oh, Johnny Spry!  He mustn’t let the ball pass by.

He loves to roll in all the mud; he loves to do it on the sly;

And how his fingertips they stretch beating a ballet dancer’s

While everyone agrees that his knee blocking’s the answer.

He may have clumsy legs; his bald head hard as plaster –

Whatever else he may be there’s no one brave or dafter.

He’s last to hear his players cheer, the first to take the flak

When things go wrong he’s put upon what’s said it gets passed back.

So out of spite, try as he might, he’ll do what they hate most,

That easy ball slips from his grasp to push it round the post.

Yet everyone has need of him, they’re shouting one and all,

But then he’ll keep them waiting as he juggles with the ball.

So when his wall is lining up, the free kick’s taking ages,

He’d like to count the kicker’s time and dock it off his wages.

But, hey, he does no better as his kick goes into touch;

Though it frees him from those corners where he’s crowded in so much,

He’s our big stopper our big he - he needs a rest does he -

And when the trainer sprays his foot he’ll plan his scrumptious tea.

Oh, Johnny Spry!  Oh, Johnny Spry!  There’s no one here who now denies

He looks the part; he does excel.  But soon the ending of his spell

When he retires or quits the game they’ll put him in the Hall of Fame

Along with others plied in wax who died and stashed away their tax,

The first in town who has been set for keeping balls out of a net

For here he’s treated like a God a saviour from the firing squad.

(from Mr Footer’s Footloose Wanderers Verses)

G.F. Phillips

OLAF FINNEGAN:  THE MAN FOR BOTH FLANKS

This winger is schizoid, but only in name,

He’s Olaf and Finnegan, half Celt and half Dane;

He’s blonde and his blue-eyed and he knows about rain.

And he’s nimble and speedy, he goes like the wind

And he’s known to most fans as The Flying Finn.

He’s a man on a mission when the ball comes to him,

And then

                It’s RUN and CROSS, RUN and CROSS

                When he can:  if he can.

How he loves open spaces and all that fresh air,

And that’s how he stands out, on his own, the fans stare

For his foot’s on the ball; he’ll hold his head in the air.

Now he’ll cheer all the hacks on the Daily Depress

When he takes on the full back, he’s out to impress

And leaves the man sitting on his bottom, at rest,

And the mud on his shorts is a mark of the test.

And now he has started he can’t seem to end

For he’s giving a lesson in how not to defend

As he takes on that full back and does it again.

And then

                 It’s RUN and CROSS, RUN and CROSS,

                 When he can:  if he can.

Now he’s on the back pages, it brings fans to the ground,

He’s mighty superior; his position’s safe and sound;

He’s young and he’s restless, but there’s things he can do

For the girls dig his looks and they dig for gold too.

So it’s all a bit hectic; Olaf’s contract is up,

And that’s why this agent will spice it all up;

For he’ll do a good job and the girls bring him luck -

So he says - and now Olaf’s wanted on both flanks and set

Where they’re shooting his looks in some new fangled specs -

How he loves all the extras; he’s an extra himself;

And they’ll pay him each word he spouts from his mouth.

And at Christmas he’s booked in for Babes in the Wood

When he’ll step on the stage in his strip, he’ll look good;

He’ll go round (I’m sure, in a faultless display),

As if trees were the players who stood in his way

And he’ll do it for real when it comes to match day.

And then

                It’s RUN and CROSS, RUN and CROSS.

               Or he’ll do it on his own.

And here is the clue – when he jinks to the left,

He’s gone past their sweeper; his path has been swept;

There’s a good chance The Flying Finn will have the ball kept

A little while longer at his big happy feet,

It’s all one way traffic; it’s his one way street.

And two players behind him were both easy meat.

And the men at the front they have all gone tongue-tied

He won’t give them the ball; well, it’s no big surprise

Till he’s tripped it’s a free kick and also his demise.

And now in conclusion he must pass the ball

But not the one desperate who’s shouting who calls;

Now he’s back on the left flank and free of disgrace

For the free kick he took was him saving face.

(from Mr Footer’s Footloose Wanderers Verses)

 

G.F. Phillips