Football Mad

Thirty years ago,
I wore the number nine jersey,
scored in every game in the 1970 season?.

I was a wiry Jack the Lad
who couldn't wait to clock off,
each Saturday at 12.

Shedding my working tackle
heavy with the smell of diesel
I pulled on the blue and gold kit,
rubbing dodgy knee joints
with wintergreen and then
breathing football, would feel
the gradual fever rush to kick off.

Team talk.
Team list.
Pre-match warm up.

The first minutes of the game were always a blur,
dizzy, fast,
sometimes creative, often chaotic
as the adrenaline pumped around
our bodies.

Nothing changes?.
football is still a passionate affair and once smitten,
it may fade over the years,
but the romance will never end in divorce.