The Beautiful Game
Poetry about association football
The English football season is reaching its climax, with the Premier League on its last few games, and the more historic Football League at the stage of the promotion playoffs. My team, Hull City, are still involved for at least another day thanks to a thrilling final match of the season proper, coming from behind to beat Norwich, and even after all the domestic business is settled there will still be a world cup to look forward to.
One of my favourite football books is an early edition (1962) of English League Football by R.C. Churchill. One of the delights of it is that it has an article on each of the 92 league clubs, (plus one or two ancient and venerable extras such as Aberdare Athletic and Thames) with each of them being introduced with an epigraph or motto from Shakespeare or some other writer. Admittedly, Churchill made liberal use of ellipses, but it was a noble aim. I would love to see something similar attempted in 4-4-2 magazine.
Here are some of my favourites
Aldershot. Bid the Soldiers Shoot Shakespeare Barnsley In triumph from the north... all red McAulay Blackpool Men may come and men may go But I go on for ever Tennyson Darlington Round a Quaker's beaver cast a glory Pope Hull City By the tide of Humber... Let us roll our strength... into one ball. Marvell Millwall Rise like lions after slumber Shelley Port Vale O listen! for the vale profound Is overflowing with the sound Wordsworth Wolverhampton Wanderers Like the wolf on the fold... Gleaming in... gold Byron
The Tennyson quote is a tribute to Stanley Matthews who at the time of publication of my copy had only just finished his career at Blackpool, and was to spend a further three seasons at Stoke - two of them in the First Division - The premier league of the day - retiring just after his 50th Birthday. The Lord alone knows what was going on at Darlington with the Quaker’s glorious beaver.
I can’t be doing with copying them all out here, but if you want me to look up your team - leave a comment and I will reply with the poetic gem that Mr Churchill unearthed.
The search for good poetry about football is a hard one.
Tracy Dawson contributed an excellent piece to an early edition of Sixty Odd Poets, which is worth taking another look at.
Grassroots - Tracy Dawson
Sunday’s sacrificed. Today we worship on the hallowed turf of our local park. This is how it begins – six and seven years old. Boys and girls in their football boots, the trampled clay and Spring’s green shoots. They’re giving it their all and their best shots. Dads on the touchline re-living their youth, they say they could have played for Rovers but… It’s a game of hard knocks, learning the rules of life and offside. Wearing golden boots like slippers on glass bones, future stars shine on the centre circle. They pass the ball and their mate crosses, scores the winning goal, it’s all about the team and taking part. The seasons pass by – freezing in the low divisions of Winter snows and Spring rains we pray for sun and the Premiership. These are the days of glory we live for. Now, they are still followers; travellers of the kingdom doing the ninety-two. It takes more than skill to cook a Sunday Roast while cheering and jeering from the side lines. We’ll never get our Sundays back – but then, there’s always the action replay.
You can find the rest of Tracy’s Sixty Odd collection here.
One of my favourite classics which mentions football is By A.E. Housman, in a Shropshire Lad. The poem Is My Team Ploughing? is a conversation between a dead lad, and his still living friend who he asks a series of questions and gets a series of responses. One response is used by Mr Churchill in his book to accompany his entry for the famous Shropshire team, Shrewsbury Town.
From Is My Team Ploughing? - A.E Housman
Is football playing
Along the river shore,
With lads to chase the leather,
Now I stand up no more?
Ay the ball is flying,
The lads play heart and soul;
The goal stands up, the keeper
Stands up to keep the goal.
I once wrote a modern version of this poem called Is My Team Still Ploughing? Here is the football bit.
From Is My Team Still Ploughing - Mike O’Brien
Is football still playing
Along the river shore,
With lads to chase the leather,
Now I stand up no more?
Nay, the ball lies rotting
The lads, they stay indoors
And watch by satellite TV
Or just look at the scores
You can read the whole of my poem, and an article on Housman here
In the early part of World War One, Jessie Pope used the analogy of football in one of her many patriotic pieces designed to encourage young men to enlist and head for the trenches. Her take on the glory and nobility of laying down your life for your country was savaged by Wilfred Owen in Dulce et Decorum Est, but the first stanza of Play the Game, is a great description of a match day atmosphere.
From Play the Game - Jessie Pope
Twenty-Two stalwarts in stripes and shorts Kicking a ball along, Set in a square of leather-lunged sports Twenty-two thousand strong, Some of them shabby, some of them spruce, Savagely clamorous all, Hurling endearments, advice or abuse, At the muscular boys on the ball.
Over to you.
I’m looking at putting together a football themed special edition of Sixty Odd Poets next month. I am looking for poetry that is a cut above the run of the mill descriptions of a match or praise for a team. I would like to see football as a metaphor for something, or football in the mock heroic style, or football as a part of social history. Something that stands out and makes you think. Non League to top flight, juniors to veterans, all aspects of the game are welcome. Are you up to the challenge?
If so send me what you have and we’ll see if we can take this page into a second leg, with extra time and maybe even penalties. Closing date for submissions - 31 May 2026. But get in early if you can!
Tracy's poem is great. The following are all excellent too: Matthew Stewart's poems about 80s Aldershot Town players in his collection Whatever You Do, Just Don't (HappenStance), Rory Waterman's 'Alfreton Town 0 Brackley Town 1 (89')' in Sweet Nothings (Carcanet), Oliver Comins's ‘Geese Above Highfield Road’ in Places of Poetry, and Peter Sansom's ‘July Football at Abbeyfield Park’ in The Last Place on Earth (also Carcanet).
Hi Mike , enjoyed your article. I've sent you a couple of footy poems inspired by long suffering fandom of Barnsley FC - G.O.A.T. (people always ask who is the best player you've seen) and When Pele won the cup for Barnsley 2 (a total fantasy piece about us actually having a player of his ability). If I can find it in my extensive filing system there's also Bigfoot in Barnsley, about signing a 8 foot 2 South American striker who can't jump.