It’s Non League isn’t it

In drab grey Sixties housing
Out by the edge of town
Close by weed strewn roundabouts
With nobody around
Where rusty iron sheeting
Makes hollow metal sounds
And pitted pock marked concrete
Crumbles in the ground

Sparse grass sown in thin sand
Was laid on builders rubble
The drainage never sorted
While cancelled fixtures doubled
Thin beams from ageing pylons
Shine feebly through the haze
From dual carriageway pollution
In this littered tarmac maze

Boys who would be something
Though cannot kick a ball
Now call themselves the Ultras
Which means nothing at all
They hear of other local teams
Who have a sugar daddy
With promises of promotion
Built on piles of money

While in the claustrophobia
Of their dole and zero hours
The taste they have in their mouth
Is permanently sour
No appetite for investment
No supermarket sweep
No Council sports agenda
No one with pockets deep

But it’s not about the Maidstones
Ebbsfleets and Billericays
Or other glory hunters whose
Transient fans take the mickey
For Non League is many miles
Broader, wider, deeper
Than shallow fortune hunters and
This week’s headline seekers

I’d rather chuckle with a pint
At some lads’ dodgy skills
Than at greedy ex league players
Who are popping slimming pills
To ensure they fit in their shorts
And pick up their pay packets
While living fifty miles away
Far from this urban racket

It’s a focus for community
Of boys and girls and football
And charity and fundraising
Not maximising footfall
So as the season approaches
Let’s celebrate the shabby
The slow, clumsy, and careless
A gaffer who’s a cabbie

We might not get promoted
Though the playoffs would be fun
The best that we can hope for
Is an upset in a cup run
It’s not that we don’t want success
We’d love the make believe
But only if we keep the faith
That at heart it stays Non League












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