Pompey in poetry – 50 years of ‘feeling blue’

Fifty Years of Feeling Blue.

50 years, can that be right?

Since ‘69 under bright floodlights

Fratton Park on a Friday night,

Five decades of blue and white.

Clear still the details of that first game,

The sights and sounds, the players’ names,

Milkins, Harris, Ley and Pack,

Hiron, McCann in the attack.

We ran on the pitch to TV’s ‘Power Game’ theme,

The first live match I’d ever seen,

We lost 2-1, as we left my brother,

Thought I wouldn’t want to see another.

But something about the Milton End,

Made me feel as if I’d found new friends,

A voice it spoke from deep inside,

This club’s for me. Heaven’s Light my Guide.

The 70s well, they weren’t so great,

Performances that were hard to take,

Relegation hurt, mixed with relief,

Perhaps a merciful release.

Regroup, rebuild and start again,

Unaware about the coming pain,

SOS Pompey, donating all loose change,

Thrown on the pitch to save Pompey’s name,

Against all odds we just survived,

In division four, our trade we plied,

Slowly, surely we made our way,

Back to where we are today.

In 2008 we won the cup,

Were relegated then came back up,

On one hand it seemed that business boomed.

On the other well, our club’s closure loomed ,

Football is a never ending story,

Triumph, disaster just transitory.

When asked why follow PFC I shrug,

And say it’s just the Pompey bug,

But what if I had missed that game,

Would my life have been the same?

With no oligarchs and no fake sheiks,

No terrible strikers and defensive mistakes.

No expensive ride up Harry’s garden path,

And dumped there broke, well you had to laugh,

They say that life’s a rollercoaster,

But is this the way that life’s supposed to,

Treat you as a loyal fan,

In coaches, cars and hired vans,

500 mile round journeys from your house,

Rollercoaster? Yeah, Southsea’s ‘Wild Mouse’.

Of course life wouldn’t have been the same,

Without Pompey, Fratton, and that Bury game,

The ups the downs, home and away,

They’ve made me what I am today.

Finger nails bitten down to the wrist,

Broke, depressed, a pessimist!

Yet I wouldn’t have it any other way,

So Play Up Pompey, Pompey Play,

Up forever and every day.

Nick Haines

Allaway Avenue, Paulsgrove