When Time Stood Still

On Monday morning as I woke up, hungover, and I started writing a poem about Sunday.  Half-way through I realised I wasn't hungover. I was still drunk. But it is the first poem I've written since school so I thought I'd share it. Be warned – it is not Yeats!

When Time Stood Still

The clock keeps ticking away in a game we must win
But time is speeding up, running out, wearing thin
A draw isn’t enough because Leicester have scored
So we win or go down thanks to this fucking board
Best fans in the world – We march and we sweat
But it’s not us playing football.
Existential threat.                                                         

The ball goes to Doucouré on the edge of the box
And he shapes up to hit it…but then time, it just stops.
As we leap from our seats and we freeze in mid-scream
Goodison’s history looks back at me just like a dream
There is Dixie and Latchford and Little Alan Ball
The Golden Vision and Hickson, Sheedy and Southall

And they’re all just right there and they are all in their prime
And I see them whilst stuck in this moment in time
And it’s Bayern, it’s beating United 5-0
It’s Rooney v Arsenal or better still
It’s Dunc’s towering header to kill off the shite
It’s Wimbledon, Coventry or Palace that night

And it’s not just the past that is out  on the pitch
The future is there too, because time is on a glitch
And legends-to-come are watching right then
(Because make no mistake we'll be champions again)
But it all boils down to us getting this goal
Going down will just see us spiral out of control

And through tears that are stuck mid-way through their flow
Kendall walks up to Doucs, and he walks real slow
He put his arm around him and smiles with intent
“Son, the Park End will suck this right into the net”
And then he nods at the gods and then time starts again
Abdoulaye hits it sweetly and the ball rockets in

The Old Lady explodes with a deafening roar
Not heard since Dixie scored 60 in our world that’s L4
(Dream on, Erling, lad, it's more than you’ll ever score)

And time kept playing tricks, ten minutes added  - no way
But Jordan says “nothing gets past me today”
And minutes become hours and we still keep the faith
The ref's whistle. 1-0. Finally we are safe.

And the feeling is a feeling no words can describe
As I am hugged by strangers and feel love for my tribe

And the night became later as we drank and we danced
Just out of relief for the Duke born in France

Later stumbling out of the Winslow, I looked up from my phone
And again time just stops - is that Brian Labone?
I raced over to hug him and tell him with glee
How much I need Everton just so I can be me
And I cry as I spoke of my fear and my dreads…
But he shushed me “We’re safe mate. And you’re worth 20 reds.” 

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