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 These poems are dedicated to all old grumps in every road, avenue and street who has forgotten that they were once a child and played in the street. 
Imagine in the old days before 'Football Schools of Excellence' etc existed.....How would the likes of Denis Law, Bobby Charlton, Stanley Matthews and George Best of learned their skills if they had been banned from kicking a ball in the street?



Touchline Shouting 
Touchline shouting, that's all I ever hear, 
I'm so confused and filled with fear 
I'm only 10 years old and football should be fun 
But with all this noise I don't know which way to run
"Get back in defence!" my manager shouts
Dad shouts, "Get up front and deal with these louts!"
Loud mouth supporter, who knows all the rules.
 (He takes the rest of us for fools)
Shouts, "What are you doing lad? Your head's in a spin!"
Is it any surprise, with all this din?
I am only a boy, so why do you all try to destroy, what I'd love to enjoy?



Down our street it's ever so neat, 
You rarely hear the sound of children's feet. 
Tidy gardens and pretty flowers, 
No factory chimneys or towers.

Commuters who come home in their company cars, 
That look at us as though we're from mars. 
We are supposed to be seen and not heard, dare we not say a word?

They don't want us to be normal kids playing skating
and football in the road. 
Maybe it's because they are getting old?

Have they forgotten what it's like to be a child? 
Expecting us to be so meek and mild. 
Did they ever kick a ball in the street or 
Make the sound of children’s feet?



Football, football, day and night,
I think about it so much, it gives me a fright.
I might play for Man U or England,
Or I just might kick a ball,
Just me and the wall.
I play football a lot,
So I do 25 kick-ups on the spot.

Football, football, day and night,
I'm going to be a professional,
I will, I will,
I can see it happening,
Yes, I can.
"Beckham to Alley, Alley to Giggs, Giggs to Alley,
Alley takes a shot. What a goal!"

Football, football day and night.
Football, football is always right.



The team huddles in the changing room,
Shivering from head to toe,
A couple of minutes before the match
It begins to hail and snow.

That's when it happens,
The thing we all dread,
In walks the Coach from Hell,
His name is Coach Fred.

He makes us train in wind and rain,
Although we make a fuss,
This is Fred the Coach from Hell,
Feel sorry for us.



I want to play in the school footy team,
That is my greatest dream.

The only trouble is ...
I don't want to be captain,
It's too much fussing and flapping,
I tried to play in mid-field,
But tripped - and my cut hasn't healed.
I played in attack,
And nearly broke my back.
I want to play in goal,
If I don't, it'll destroy my soul,
So I just sit and watch,
Eating popcorn and butterscotch.

The team walked onto the pitch,
In white and blue,
The goalie slips on some dog poo,
Fell over a cat,
And broke his back,
He couldn't play.
"Don't worry," I cry,
"I will try,
To be your goal keeper now."
"You're not in the right clothes,
But I suppose, no-one knows,
If you change the kit,
A little bit."

I played that day,
Hooray, Hooray,
I got my dream that day,
Everyone was saying,
"Look how brilliant he can play,
He stops every ball his way."
From that day on,
To every game I've gone,
And played in goal for the school. 



Down our road it's young versus old
Us boys don't want to play with toys.
We want to play football and make a noise.
We're fed up of being told off by the old,
I wonder if they ever played football in the road?

How can we ever make it, if we don't have the chance to fake it?
We want to pretend we're Arsenal, Man U or Chelsea.
Or whoever we wannabe!
Old man , if only you'd come and see
Us boys playing football down our road.

Please don't try and stop us, cause you're old! 


Recognition & thanks for poems by Simon Icke UK- author and publisher used with permission of the author.

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