Paul McGrath's Guide to the Libero (Notes for John Terry)

Back-flick over the head,

Power-header down the field,

Supine sliding challenge.

Jockey your man,

Block the ball,

And put one in the opponents’ net.

Sideways pass,

Back to keeper,

Hold the defensive line,

When it's your turn to take a pen,

Gracefully decline.

  

McGrath, Cantona, Charlton, Law and Best,

Lofthouse, Dixie Dean, Matthews and the rest.

6:36 on a football afternoon

It's 6:36 on a football afternoon,

Tottenham and Chelsea fans pass in white and blue,

Streaming off the train and into their cars,

It immediately becomes apparent that they're just a bunch of Yahs,

Mercedes, BMW, Porsche Cabriolet,

No amount of money will keep them away,

(From the game they know and love).

Before there was Zola,

There was Frank Sinclair,

And Eddie Newton too,

Schooled by Gullit and Hoddle,

To wear the royal blue.

They played like stoned lions,

Not the one on their chests,

Yet somehow I miss them,

They tried to show their best,

(Although sometimes they were rubbish).

Jimmy Greaves scored 124 goals in 157 games,

Best striker in history?

He missed out on one big game,

Now he's forgotten: it’s a mystery.

OK as Normal

Just carry on as normal,
 While the world burns,
Just carry on as normal,
 As capitalism collapses,
Just ignore the abnormal,
 As you drift along benignly,
Just shake your head and sigh,
 As people in the Middle East die,
Don't forget to tut,
 At starving orphans in a hut,
Then the video cuts,
 To Kate and Wills,
Everything's OK for the wedding day,
           Everything's OK..
                                                     OK

You & Me

I love you but you hate me,
You hate me because I love you,
I love you because you hate me,
You love you but I hate me.

I love you but you hate you,
You hate me because I hate me,
I hate me because I love you,
You'll love me when I hate you.

You can't love and I can't hate.

21st Century Soccer

You cheer your millionaires,
We cheer our millionaires,
And a man from Buenos Aires,
Cries himself to sleep.

You cheer your fake legends,
We jeer your fake legends,
And a man in Abu Dhabi,
Breaks promises he could never keep.

You cheer your fuzzy lion,
We cheer our furry dragon,
And a man in South Korea,
Grins from ear to ear.

We wear our polyester,
You wear your cheap nylon,
And a man in Stockholm,
Gets richer by the year.

Please Stop

Did we do enough to stop the crush?
A crowd of people died.
Helpless against the iron fence,  
Caged behind blue police lines.
The tunnel pushed,
Kids cried out,
Hands reached down but couldn't save,
Those that fell beneath the mass,
Sandwiched tight,
Arms locked off, breathless.

Grobelaar cried,
Beardsley's shot,
The goal that never was,
Did we do enough to stop the crush?
A crowd of people died.

No more the cup,
No more the rush.
New songs were wrote,
Sad songs of loss and death,
A crowd of people died,
Helpless,
Please stop.