ALVECHURCH 1-2 HEREFORD FC: in verse...

The Bulls In Lye Meadow…

The Bulls arrived at Lye Meadow

Players with muted, edgy impressions;

With a slight bow I ushered them past me,

To amused, confused expressions… 

Recognition permitted my admission,

Proceeding, I made for the bar,

Noticed a chap sweeping rain from the roof:

A photographer, doubling as a char…

Access to the roof was at the rear of the building,

For wedged near a caravan and tractor

Was a shaky aluminium, extended ladder

And to climb this was a risky factor…

Algae hid beneath rain puddles,

Across the dark felting sodden;

After scaling the height, I kept a close check

On where my boots had trodden…

The view, once comfortably settled

Was quite literally stunning

But moving about on a potential rink

Took stealth and a good deal of cunning…

As Hereford’s fans trickled into the ground,

Kick-off scheduled for just over an hour,

Charcoal clouds hung low over Alvechurch

And deposited a sharp April shower…

Soon all the seats had been taken,

More Bulls congregated behind one net;

Their chanting began, their drummer drummed,

Their resolve undiminished, though wet…  

The ‘press-box’, carpeted, was drenched,

No head-room to stand straight inside;

No chairs or even a wooden bench

In that veritable bird-hide…

The scene thus set, beer sold from a gazebo, 

Portaloos stood straight as sentries;

And still the singing Hereford throng

Clamoured to gain entry…

The game was tense, United settled,

But ‘Church were uncreative;

The Bulls netted first and took the initiative,

With Rob Purdie quite superlative…

A second concession, poorly defended by ‘Church

Surely left them with too much to do;

Then substitutions, a goal pulled back

And The Congregation’s hopes grew…

Nadat fell, as if suddenly shot: Penalty!

Trouble flared among troubled fans;

The harassed officials attempted to becalm

Waving their arms and flapping their hands…

Tension, pressure: Nadat stepped forth,

Confident, his left boot trusted;

Horsell, ‘the ‘keeper, alert, intent,

His fans bellowed derision, he remained unflustered…

The shot, well struck, knee-high,

The dive, low right, successful;

The save, knocked out, relieving,

The fans spilled over: regretful…

Then rage, confrontation, 

Enraged, aggravation;

Fencing hauled, 

Beer hurled, 

Punches thrown, 

Hate full-blown; 

Then vilification

Enraged castigation…

Unwilling police pushed back the angry,

Players looking on in disbelief;

Nobody was arrested, blamed, or disgraced

And the game restarted to general relief…

The intensity dropped, the ‘Church offense had run cold,

The Bulls were able to see out the match

For an important victory over their rivals,

In an all-ticket game on their own patch…

Bulls’ chanting reverberated long after the finish, 

The inebriated, the drummer, the madder;

It remained only for me to negotiate 

That rickety, unsecured, aluminium ladder… 

Pete Ray

April 2016

   

PRECARIOUS...

PRESS-BOX...

GAZEBO... 

BULLS AT LYE MEADOW...

THE WRITER ON THE ROOF...