"Seven bums and fourteen legs,
a brazen ecstasy which begs
the question some of us are asking -
is Peter Goulding multi-tasking?"

Martin Parker, Editor, Lighten Up Online

Saturday, June 12, 2010

World Cup 2010 - Day 1

South Africa 1 Mexico 1 (Group A)

The fans were blowing hard on odd-shaped cornets
As the competition started without hitch.
It sounded like a swarm of angry hornets
Was buzzing round the Soccer City pitch.

Like wasps descending on a picnic table,
The Mexicans were out to spoil the show,
Tormenting the Bafana, though unable
To land upon the hosts a fatal blow.

But in the second half, Soweto local
Tschabalala crashed one o’er the line.
He sounded like a Chiffons’ backing vocal
And everyone agreed he was so fine.

But then, in front of Pontius Pilate Blatter,
They went a little bit too far as hosts.
They served a goal up on a silver platter,
Bidding Marquez shoot between the posts.

The World Cup’s start, as usual, impresses,
Kicking off with quite a tasty trailer,
Though I’m unsure, as the tournament progresses,
How long I’m going to stick that vuvuzela.
Uruguay 0 Those Who Can’t Be Named 0 (Group A)

We had a plan in work to watch the football,
A fairly foolproof notion, it was claimed.
We would apply the science
To watch the Uruguyans
Playing versus Those Who Can’t Be Named.

We couldn’t get the match to play online, though,
And no-one knew too much about IT.
There was jeering, there was hooting
As we roundly cursed computing,
But not a shot in anger did we see.

Of course, as I was nominally most senior,
I was their prime target to be blamed.
Yes they threw me to the lions
When the unseen Uruguyans
Played the formless Those Who Can’t Be Named.

There’s only one thing saved me from a lynching
When gremlins in my pc came a-calling –
Though the fates were squarely stacked
I was rescued by the fact
That the match, it seems, was utterly appalling.


  1. "Those Who Can't Be Named" (nice tie-in with the reference to "The Scottish Play").

    I can just imagine all your consternation at not being able to view the match.

    Kevin missed the opener live, but had it Personal-video-recorded (henceforth to be known as Pvrd.) He did watch the second one live (managed to leave work early).

    Speaking of work, you're going to be busy over the next few weeks; that brain of yours is going to be buzzing like a venue of vuvuzelas.

    Nice opener from you!


    P.S. - Don't know how I missed the first poem (below), but I must say, it was a treat!

  2. You doin a pome fer every match! Fair play.Those who can't be named were shite, we (the boys in green) could only have done better. Could this be Karma? He who especially can't be named had the temerity, the audacity ,the nerve the downright neck of a jockeys bollixyness to call for a ballon de main which in no stretch of the imagination could be classed as such. Merde et sacre bleu, mes amis.

    Good poems Pierre be the way!

  3. A venue of vuvuzelas - what a great collective noun!!
    Yes, I think Henry realised what he was doing and shut up!!