(h) Vs Yate Town

They were at home versus lowly Yate Town

Back home, in the lee of Worthy Down

Of our number, there were only three-score

Evo-Stick football, (Southern League) to the fore

 

We huddled and shivered at the Denplan Ground

As February’s full anger whipped us around

The banks of the Itchen all sodden and mulched

The players strips now in mud-engulfed

 

Then finally a goal, in circumstances flimsy

A goal born on the wind, and its turbulent whimsy

A cheer lasting for four seconds full

Before inevitably, we return to the dull

 

But Yate Town then morphed into Hate Town

The centre-back scythed our number nine down

Our winger was put through the wringer

Received a stinger, from a circus-clown.

 

Then to the King Alfred, tankards-aloft

To celebrate the only goal, so soft

And how craft overcame agricultural tackles

We’ll return next time with cheers, or with heckles

 

Copyright, Jody Redmires 2016

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