It’s All About The Money

In the world of football, it’s not always sunny,
For it’s not about the passion, it’s all about the money.
As we watch the beautiful game, with hope and despair,
The decisions made in its name, seem incredibly unfair.

The World Cup, a spectacle of talent and grace,
But it’s the host nations that we must embrace.
Yet, in this global dance, a truth we cannot deny,
Money drives the choices, while values seem to fly.

From desert sands to distant lands, decisions made,
Not for the love of the game, but for pockets to be paid.
As nations bid, and promises are whispered in the night,
It’s not the fans’ dreams that take flight, but greed’s delight.

For when the rich and powerful cast their influential spell,
They choose the hosts, not for the game, but for profits to swell.
The world watches as principles seem to grow thin,
In the game we adore, where money seeks to win.

So let us not forget, as we cheer and sing,
That football’s heart should not be controlled by the bling.
It’s not funny, it’s all about the money’s cold embrace,
While we dream of a beautiful game, in a more just and fair place.

VAR Controversy

Football fans are becoming ever-more united in their growing hatred of VAR, I’m sure.

In the realm of football, where action unfolds,
VAR exists, or so I’ve been told.
But what does this ref, in the digital sphere,
Truly do when the game’s excitement is near?

Does he play Space Invaders, lost in the past,
While players and fans watch the game’s frantic blast?
Is he chasing high scores as we cry and cheer,
Or focused on justice, making calls crystal clear?

As the ball dances ‘cross the pitch, left and right,
Does he hunt aliens in pixels of light?
Or scans each replay with his all-seeing eye,
To ensure the game’s fairness, where no cheats lie?

In the world of VAR, the mystery remains,
A hidden figure in football’s high-stakes games.
Does he just play, or watch with precision and care?
Only he knows for sure, in that digital lair.

Footy on the Telly

In a room adorned with scarves, and screens so bright,
There sits a man, his heart taking flight.
His eyes fixated on the flickering TV’s glow,
In this world of goals and passion, his spirits aglow.

Weekend after weekend, he’s filled with delight,
As the beautiful game unfolds, a wondrous sight.
His friends call him, invite him out to the park,
But he’s found his joy, watching from his own mark.

The thrill of a goal, the moves so divine,
In football’s embrace, he’s found a goldmine.
His cheers of elation, his laughter’s sweet sound,
Echo through the room, like a love that’s profound.

His family’s birthdays and events are all dear,
But watching the game brings him moments sincere.
He’s found a connection, in fans near and far,
In the world of football, beneath every star.

As seasons change and the years roll on by,
He’s discovered a love that will never run dry.
In the world of the beautiful game, he’s found his decree,
To cherish the joy of watching football on TV.

I Don’t Want To Go To Liverpool

Not about anyone in particular…

In fields of green where passions flare,
A footballer’s heart in crossroads’ glare,
He dreams of goals and victories true,
Yet Liverpool’s call, he must eschew.

The Mersey’s charm may brightly gleam,
But Chelsea’s blues ignite his dream,
He envisions Stamford Bridge’s roar,
Where his ambitions could truly soar.

The Kop may sing with voices strong,
Yet at Anfield’s gates, he does not long,
For it’s the Bridge that calls his name,
Where he believes he’ll find his fame.

In Liverpool’s shadow, he won’t reside,
Chelsea’s colours are his chosen guide,
To Stamford Bridge, his heart’s aligned,
Where he aims to forge a legacy, defined.

The Women’s World Cup

In fields of green, a wondrous sight,
Where prowess shines in pure daylight,
Women’s World Cup, a fierce delight,
Skill, speed, agility take flight.

With every stride, they seize the pitch,
Mastery’s grace in every switch,
A symphony of teamwork’s blend,
Their talents harmonize and ascend.

Oh, watch them weave, a dance so fine,
Power and stance in perfect line,
Their lightning sprints, finesse so true,
In every move, excitement grew.

They dribble past, opponents chase,
Leaving trails of awe and grace,
A testament to hours they’ve spent,
Perfecting moments, strength’s intent.

With heart and soul, they fiercely fight,
For victory, in the vibrant light,
In Women’s World Cup, they proclaim,
The glory of football’s cherished game.

So let’s cheer with joyful glee,
For players bold and spirits free,
In this grand tournament, they prove,
Skill, speed, agility in every move.

Tribute to Joaquin

AI doesn’t handle real events well so this tribute is quite impressive. I struggled to get an AI generated image which I liked, but the one used here to illustrate the poem is ok.

In the realm of football, a legend we find,
Joaquín, the maestro, one of a kind.
With passion and skill, he graced the green,
A true icon of the beautiful game scene.

At Real Betis, his journey began,
A young star rising, a loyal fan.
Winger supreme, with a magical touch,
Joaquín’s artistry, oh, it meant so much.

Valencia called, he spread his wings wide,
Cup triumphs and glory, he stood with pride.
A Málaga detour, a brief sojourn,
But back to Betis, his heart would return.

Captain’s armband, he wore with grace,
Leading his team in a spirited chase.
Promotion achieved, La Liga reclaimed,
Joaquín’s legacy forever ingrained.

His skill with the ball, a joy to behold,
Feints and dribbles, a story untold.
With a smile on his face, he danced with delight,
Inspiring teammates with his shining light.

The Spanish national team he proudly wore,
A warrior on the field, his country he bore.
In tournaments fought, his talent displayed,
Joaquín, a warrior, his mark never fades.

Now his boots are hung, his battles are done,
A career for the ages, a champion he’s won.
We bid farewell to this footballing sage,
Joaquín, forever etched in football’s golden page.

As Joaquín retires, we salute his name,
A legend in our hearts, forever aflame.
For the joy he gave us, the memories we keep,
In the annals of football, his legacy runs deep.

Ascension Day

On Ascension Day they ascend,
The weary steps they must transcend.
Brighton fans, brave souls in flight,
Scaling heights with all their might.

Through trials steep, they forge their way,
Their passion burns, come what may.
Each stride, a testament of love,
Ascending to the skies above.

Their chants resound, their colors fly,
With hearts aflame, they touch the sky.
Though weary, they will not be stopped,
For Brighton’s name, forever locked.

So on this day, their spirits rise,
To Newcastle’s away end, they’ll rise.
Poor souls who struggle, never fall,
Their journey echoes, one and all.

Hereford v Brighton

I had to educate ChatGPT as it was incredibly inaccurate! Having got the facts more-or-less right, it then produced this poem. Not bad!

The day was one of tension and of strife,
As Hereford and Brighton fought for life.
The crowd was packed, the air electric too,
For one would rise, and one would bid adieu.

Hereford, desperate, pushed and pressed for more,
Until a stroke of luck fell at their door.
A Kerry Mayo own goal gave them hope,
A lifeline in a game where they could not cope.

But Brighton, not to be undone so soon,
Fought back and struck, to grab a precious boon.
A Reinelt goal, that silenced Edgar’s roar,
And sealed the fate of those who’d gone before.

And so it was, with heavy hearts and tears,
That Hereford fell, after all their fears.
A Football League club for years unending,
Their fate sealed, and their hopes all bending.

But though they fell, they never lost their pride,
And fought their way back up, with heart and stride.
A club reborn, with memories so dear,
Of that day when hope was lost, but courage clear.

From Spain to Wembley!

Can’t wait!

Seagulls Over Spain, they fly so high,
Their hearts are filled with hope and pride,
As they make their way to Wembley’s sky,
To see Brighton’s brave and fearless side.

The FA Cup semi-final is no small feat,
But they know their team is strong and true,
They’ll stand together, they won’t retreat,
And fight till the end, whatever they do.

London calls, with all its glitz and glam,
The city of dreams, the land of the bold,
But Seagulls Over Spain, they don’t give a damn,
They’re here to see their team, to cheer and uphold.

They’ll sing and chant, with all their might,
And their passion will light up the day,
They’ll stand proud, and never lose sight,
Of the joy and thrill that comes their way.

So Seagulls Over Spain, fly high and free,
With hope and faith, and love for the game,
For in Wembley, they’ll witness history,
And see Brighton’s glory rise and reign.

Chelsea Philosophy

A bit tongue in cheek but hey, why not?!

Plato and Aristotle sat down to talk,
About the downfall of a team they’d stalked,
Chelsea Football Club was in trouble,
Their financial mismanagement caused a bubble.

Plato sighed and shook his head,
“The love of money is why they’re dead,
Their greed has led to their downfall,
They forgot that passion is what makes a team stand tall.”

Aristotle nodded in agreement,
“Their focus on wealth is a detriment,
They failed to see that unity and spirit,
Are what make a team truly merit.”

Together they pondered on what went wrong,
How Chelsea’s legacy didn’t last long,
They concluded that avarice and greed,
Are what caused the team to recede.

Plato and Aristotle then bid farewell,
Their discussion on Chelsea had run its spell,
But their wisdom remained for all to see,
That money can’t buy success, unity is key.