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Forward We March

By jfarrell

My third day of work was Wembley,

I don’t know how many were there;

Being part of a crowd of several thousand,

It may be normal for some;

I get nervous with just one other person present.

Like the Roman Legion of old,

We marched several paces forward; then stopped.

Several paces forward, then wait for several minutes;

Then forward we march…

The building to our right,

I don’t know if it was flats or hotel;

People looking out of windows,

To watch an army of fans march.

And the one wierdo, naked,

Watching us with binoculars;

Same crazy people live among us.

by Jeph Johnson

On his college football jersey
He wore number 42
As an All-American linebacker
In '97 for ASU
Chasing players down,
Gridiron aflame
To the ground with bruising tackles,
He really loved this game
Then in '98 the Cardinals
Of the NFL
Lined him up at strong safety
And noticed he played well
Passes thrown at others,
He would get in the way
Chasing errant tosses
Whenever they would stray
Through the air with interceptions,
Covering bombs, surprise attacks
When they ran their routes against him,
Players shuddered in their tracks
Number 40 played with passion,
Commitment and intent
Loyalty and devotion,
His world seemed so content
The Arizona desert he called home
And loved to live
Forged a future for his family,
Loving wife and future kids
He possessed more than most could ask for:
A strong chin and stiffer lip
Intelligence and boyish charm,
Athletic skill and leadership
Destined to be a hero,
Hall of Fame or President
A man's man all could relate to
...at least those with good intent
But the attacks of 9-11,
That fateful September day
Inspired him to reconsider
How his legacy'd be portrayed
So with courage and conviction,
Without fanfare or acclaim
He removed his Football helmet,
And with his brother took new aim
Through the cross hairs of a rifle
Towards threats we all perceived
Tracking troops who trained in terror
With few stripes upon their sleeve
Wearing now a soldier's helmet,
A new gridiron aflame
The Afghanistan desert
Would be where his new team would train
Dodging errant tosses
Whenever they would stray
Grenades were not footballs
And war was not a game
Through the air this time with missiles,
And more surprise attacks
Obeying all his orders
There was no turning back
Not for Patrick Daniel Tillman,
He had made his oath to fight!
Not for God or praise or accolades,
But for what he saw was right
Pat and Kevin served with honor
And with their tour complete
Saw there mission wasn't over,
So they refused to retreat
A second tour of duty,
Despite doubting the war
Was undertaken by
The Tillman brothers underscored!
Orders now contradicted,
They were caught on steep terrain
This battlefield fiasco
Became a military melee
On the Pakistan border
His unit split twofold
Still obeying orders,
Still doing what he was told
He went on ahead
Despite the easy target on his chest
"How dare he doubt in his diary
This war had become a mess?"
"And this crap about there not being
A God to lead our fight?"
"Wasn't Jesus mad at Mohammed
The whole reason for this plight?"
"And this Iraqi oil
Is America's right to claim"
"Whatever the reason, buddy,
You've no right to place the blame!"
So for enemies and allies
He stood upon that grassless knoll
An atheist not only in harms way 
But outside of a foxhole!
"I'm Pat Fucking Tillman" he cried,
But shots rang out instead
For the sins of our whole country
He took three bullets to the head
Sometimes selfless endeavors
To right which one finds wrong
Become deadly reminders
To not always play along
We must voice with power our opinions
With the utmost urgency
And hold to our convictions
Amidst adversity
For Pat Tillman's not in Heaven,
He's somewhere more unique
He is in all our hearts and actions
Through every word we speak
A man with all to live for,
Caught in an illegal war's drama
We may never know who pulled the trigger,
But it wasn't Saddam or Osama
"Friendly fire" is what they called it,
Meaning it was one of us
When the highest rank in your chain of command
Is someone you can't trust
It becomes rather obvious
Who really is at fault
But I'll leave that up to everyone
Else to try to figure out

The first time they talked,

Something feels different.

The first time they met,

Everything feels right.

She ran,

Hugged and kissed him tight

Like there's no tomorrow.

He ran,

Hugged and kissed her tight

Like she was slipping away.

He was her football superstar

She was his precious gem.

Together, they fell in love

Unconditionally and passionately. 

There on that shelf, next to my football photos, my ball. Not just any ball, silver and red, small, slightly torn, but always my favorite. After all these years, I still remember that moment in which they said my name and I standed up to go and pick it up. A sea of emotions in me, all for a ball, one silver and red ball. Such an important game like that, is rewarded with medals, trophies, but that ball, oh, that ball is worth more than that. Few times I have used it, rarely has known the air when thrown. It has come with me to all kinds of places. I cannot go anywhere without it. Why am I so attached to it? Why not treat him like an ordinary ball? As much as I cling to these questions, and try to change it, I cannot. That is because it defines me, defines my work and dedication, all the effort I put in that season, and in that particular game. Silver and red colors that I will never forget, colors that will stay with me forever. The ball silver and red, the only possetion that I would not share. That object which would be the first I will take out in case of a fire. Why am I so attached to it? Why not treat him like an ordinary ball? I am attached to that ball, because that ball is me. I do not treat it like an ordinary because it is not an ordinary ball. This ball has a history, a number, a team, and many feelings. This ball can be silver and red, but worth gold.

Ball Boys Done It I confess have to guess how they got in this mess; Did not possess any fines when they did address The public as to problem Patriots had to bare; Failed to fill ball with right amount and enough air. So in despair were found to be fools not fair When sins would share that were hard to bare, By in football exact, proper amount not allot And guess what again as usual they got caught. Why would other people you want to embarrass, By having your balls made out of plaster of Paris And Instead of ball had been kicking the dirt; When you did was painful and sure did hurt. Personally, myself I prefer balls that are soft I love them best because into air can loft Them up and land into a receiver's hand Which is exactly way that I had planned. People in New England now understand; Think when football is cold it will expand Just like to would in your car's spare tire That leads me to believe they are a liar. Game balls are expensive and guaranteed To maintain air they want and will ever need Not requiring any air during the game So ball boys should be receiving the blame. James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran 173 Shadowood Court SE Bolivia, NC 28422 www.poetrysoup.com and www.story-telling-around-the-world.com jthorn5656@gmail.com

Read more at: http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/ball_boys_done_it_635878

My ODE ENTITLED 'VERSUS WATFORD 28% POSESSION'

Greetings Bluebirds how do you do?

Just had to write a poem to you

looks so messy from afar

from heady heights to lowered bar

Malky gone in a haze of texts

hey you obviously know the rest

Then a gamble on a man

with no experience Mr Tan

And now you chose Mr Slade

Personally, come what may

when a local hero called Tony P

would have come if you asked thee

You obviously couldnt work with him

clueless rhetoric he would have binned

He wouldn't stand for meddling at all

with his life of experience and

your 2 months studying football!

I have been monitoring the news

really are some Cardiff Blues

Ok we just won away

but the brand of football is

causing DISMAY

love the letter from the old man

pointing out that Cardiff's brand

of football, more suited to park

really is a comparison; stark

the best football I have recently seen

was the football under Malky

fast flowing, counter attack

and when needed a defence stack

but back to why I did write

not bothered about the shite

quality of football anyway

dont watch the club these days

because I made a decision

at the beginning of the season

that all I would do would read

the write ups of the BBC

and pay specific attention too

possession percentages of the ex blue

cos they should averaged 50%

with Mr Tans squad heaven sent

and until they reach that point

could only mean a disjoint

bad enough under OGS

at times we looked clueless

not seen a Russel Slade team

even on the TV

until they can get 50% possession

score, shut up shop, aint heaven

no leaders on the pitch too

without them we are screwed

one thing about OGS

a kid in a sweet shop no less

but from the glimpses I have seen

some of his buys played decently

and selling our club captain too

OGS had some screws loose

and none are even getting games

to the outsider that's insane

Russell are you picking the team?

Or does your greatfullness

ensure some lies from thee??

Perhaps this is why MR P

was never offered the job you see

principled, from beginning to end

and a genius with a team blend

and championship experience too

 cant believe he's still out of work too

would have done a grand job for you

We got the World Cup raging on

All the people that don't like soccer are hopping on

But this bandwagon's almost full

Of people that run with the bulls

To people that eat noodles

'Cause this game has fans all over the world

From Grown up men to little girls

Millions of people watching the field

Looking at players who refuse to yield

Waiting for the score to be revealed.

Forwards and defenders playing hard

Trying not to get a red card

Some act like they've been marred

To try to get others barred

From continuing on in the game

So they can get all of the fame

In the end only one team can win

And all the others get thrown in a bin.

I played a little in high school football and...as a sport I have nothing but praise

At least the way it was played in high school, you know...back in the good old days.

On or off the football field our coach had certain behaviors he’d expect

His main teaching no matter how we did was to treat everyone with respect.

If you knock them down you help them up, if they score, “Great Job” is what you say

Because we learned in football as in life there is a gracious way to play.

I never played past high school (I wasn’t the superstar I thought I would be)

But I still love watching the game today though I’m often appalled at what I see.

Yes, the game is still worth watching that’s a fact I cannot overstate

I do have a problem however with the ways some players celebrate.

It appears in the years since I played football some gamesmanship has passed away

And some of the players have forgotten there’s a respectful way to play.

Players mock and they ridicule and they try to humiliate and shame

It seems to me along the way they’ve forgotten it’s just a game. 

If a player makes a tackle it’s not enough that we applaud

He bursts out in the open and acts like he’s a God.

If another scores a touchdown he begins to pound his chest

He runs and jumps and flails and shouts just like a man possessed.

Since when does doing what’s expected cause you to flex, and shake and scream

You’d think they succeeded by themselves instead of as a team.

Certainly there’s a place for celebration in the game of football today

But if my high school coach was watching I know exactly what he’d say.

He’d say, “Players please remember that no matter what ensues

You must show as much dignity when you win as you show those times you lose.”

Football has a grace and beauty that will oftentimes amaze

But when it comes to sportsmanship and honor, I long for the good old days.