Μια (ακόμα) ωδή στο ποδόσφαιρο
Με αφορμή την συμπλήρωση 150 χρόνων ιστορίας της η Ποδοσφαιρική Ομοσπονδία της Αγγλίας, που όπως έχουμε δει πρόσφατα είναι αρκετά δραστήρια και με ποικιλία ιδεών, ζήτησε από τον συγγραφέα και αρθρογράφο Musa Okwonga να γράψει ένα ποίημα για το ποδόσφαιρο και την λατρεία του Αγγλικού λαού προς αυτό. Το ποίημα που προέκυψε έχει τίτλο ‘Ωδή στο ποδόσφαιρο’ (όπως ακριβώς και το Αργεντίνικο ποίημα που είχαμε ανεβάσει πριν λίγο καιρό και το οποίο μπορείς να βρεις και στο κανάλι μας στο youtube πλέον) και έγινε άμεσα και βίντεο, στο οποίο συμμετέχουν αρκετές προσωπικότητες του Αγγλικού ποδοσφαίρου, όπως ο Τζέραρντ, ο Βενγκέρ, ο Γουόλκοτ και άλλοι.
“An Ode to Football”
This is football:
Yes, jumpers for goalposts in your local park, With the lamp-posts as your floodlights, And no-one watching but the stars:
This is football –
Where the groundstaff cut grass with a barber’s care, Where the terraces forever sing hymns to their favourite players:
This is football –
Hot coffee in the stands on midweek nights, This is players squaring up, But never actually starting fights
This is football
Each battle lasts an hour-and-a-half, It’s that war of rival scarves, You can fight fair, or plunge to grass –
This is football
Imitating that voice that reads Final Score, This is transfer-window shopping, It’s Deadline Day on Sky Sports
This is football
Last in that half-time queue for the loo then food:, This is Sir Geoff Hurst on Wembley’s turf in destiny’s pursuit
This is football
Humming Match of the Day’s theme tune as it starts: Keeping your head down from thirty yards, and shivering crossbars:
This is football
This is panic, Your defenders scrambling back, When they realised the other team sitting deep
Was just a trap
This is football, this is football
Cracked shinpads and all, It’s the innocent protest – It’s the “I barely touched him, ref!”
This is football
This is not just 4-4-2 or 4-3-3, This is what you do when you go one player down, and then concede
This is football
This is that banter you get at away grounds, Which when you score that last-minute winning goal, Is not so loud
This is football
Cup tie: You’ve gone to penalties to sever the knot, But your guts are all you’ve got, And sudden death now marks the spot:
This is football
Not prawn sandwiches, You can find it in all languages, It’s your spilled pint in the pub, When your team goes one-nil up:
This is football
This is that fanzine which calls it harsh but fair, This is catching coaches, planes and trains since your club needs you there
This is football
Practised against the wall, and in the hall, It’s those concrete playground moves, That have ruined all your shoes:
This is football
Lugging your team’s laundry home from Sunday league, This is playing online tournaments until sleep intervenes
This is football:
It’s a very big deal, You can ask Bill Shankly, It’s that click-clack of the turnstile, It’s that Gazza-needs-a-hanky
This is football
Brought to you by the Football Association, Formed in the Tavern of Freemasons, One-fifty years in the making
This is football:
Of all the sports, this is our nation’s favourite, And we speak to celebrate it, So if you have a drink, please raise it