WHEN COACHES SCREAM FROM THEIR DUGOUTS...

Non-League Screamers…

I recall my dad embarrassing my mum

With a spring to his feet, like a Jack from a box;

Scuffling, scrabbling to yank open the front door

And get at the sheep, those youths in their flocks…

They’d run across his garden and trampled plants

And flowers and scuffed up his mown lawn;

Anger seethed in his military frown,

As he burst from the porch, bellowing his scorn…

“OIIII… HEYYYY… AAAAAAAHHHHH…” were the sounds he made,

As the giggling dimwits made good their escape

And dad would give chase, shaking a fist

But mum hid behind curtains, her expression agape…

That awful scream, that unnecessary admonition

Has recently reared its distressing head

At non-league football matches,

By angry coaches, gurning and quite red…

The “AAAAAAHHHHH…” is the commonest,

As tackles fly in, or players fake a fall;

But until men play like men and get on with the game,

The high-pitched squealing will continue to appal…

PETE RAY

January 2015

On my video clips, these screeches can be heard from men’s throats in each game I watch. They remind me of my dad’s unwise yells at uncouth youths and his chases down the road after them in Shard End, Birmingham, where I was brought up by a chap I was frightened of...

When dad embarrassed me, I wished I was a shoebill stork...