Here Goes, Son…
(My poem inspired by Leigh Lambert’s painting…)
The father leans down to his son, likely hesitant
About this day of days and his first Toon match.
A moment. An assurance. An anointment.
The allowing of a footballing religion to pervade
His young life, to excite, to emote, to feel depressed,
To weep for, to forgive, to thrill at and yet to feel a camaraderie…
There are flat caps and bobble hats, even a top hat upon one vibrant
Male head, one of a mischief of magpies lured to watch
An encounter. A tussle. An entertainment.
The cheering of players, a life’s commitment made.
Here goes the son, to savour, to believe, to be impressed,
To grieve for, to urge, to yell at and yet to feel like a real Geordie…
Pete Ray
8th August 2025…
Newcastle United’s original St James’ Park features on the painting, a shrine for supporters and no doubt once a Mecca for coal-mine workers to make a fortnightly pilgrimage to.
An escape, a relief, a joy…
I don’t recall my first ever soccer game because I was a very young child, held at Villa Park by my father one Saturday afternoon in the early 1950s.
It was a reserve team match, Aston Villa v Blackpool, for whom Stanley Matthews was playing…
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