If our life together is a football match

If our life together is a football match,
I demand time added on to the added-on time
An instant replay – the ball’s not over the line!
A last-minute penalty save in the last-minute ward
A refusal to let you have an early bath, early doors
I’ll stand in the wall as the number 10 kicks
I’ll go in knee-high on all of illness’s tricks
I’ll stop it however, however I can
I won’t let you be part of someone else’s tactical plan.

But it’s not and it’s over, just as they thought
You flew down the wing but your heels have been caught
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know it drives you to distraction
but the only way I can cope
is to think of you leaving me
as some terrible
terrible
three o’clock Saturday
relegation-battling
footballing action.

Football love (part 1)

If you were like my football team
I’d wave my scarf all round your ground.
I’d toot my vuvuzuela
till the neighbours came around.

I’d wait for you forever
like Bobby Greyfriars his bone
and the words you know I’d long to hear?
Now you’re coming home.

The Sunday kick about

Here! Here!
To me! Me!
Go on, chase it down!
Oh, at least undo your coat, man!
But it’s pouring!
To you! You!
I didn’t see it!
Well, you shouldn’t be smoking….
And the over-50s Sunday kickabout continues as it always does, until – GOOOAAALLL! He aeroplanes away, raincoat over head.