Poems about being near relegation

Poems about... Being Near Relegation

TRAGEDY!

Here we are
In a lost and lonely part of Division Two
Held in time
In a world of defeats we slowly drown
Come on Gas
You just can't make it on your own
You really should be scoring goals
Scoring goals
Winning games
Winning games

Tragedy!
When the feelings gone and you can't go on
It's tragedy
When the Gasheads cry
and you don't know why it's hard to bear
With all these team changes
You're going nowhere
Tragedy!
When you lose control and you got no goals
It's tragedy
When the Gasheads cry
and you don't know why it's hard to bear
With all these team changes
You're going nowhere

Home and away
there's a problem down inside of us
Come on Gas
Without getting back into the games
Down we'll go
And we just can't take it all alone
We really should be scoring goals
Scoring goals
Winning games
Winning games

SUE ASHTON
With apologies to the Bee Gees (and Steps)

This won is about our flirtation with relefation in the 1998/99 season. Funnily enough that's where we finding ourselves in February 2001!!

ON BENDED KNEE

Rovers
I can't explain
Where did we lose our way?
Gas, it's driving me insane
And I know you just need one more chance
To prove how good you are
If you come back and play
Like at Madejski
Then the wins will never go

Can we go back to the day the team was strong
Can you tell me how a progressing side goes wrong
Can somebody tell me how to get things back
The way they used to be
Oh Gas, give me the reason
I'm down on bended knee
I'll never rest easy until you're safe from the drop
I'm down on bended knee

So many times I dream of you
In that FA Cup run
I know how you played during that time;
Then I open up my eyes
To face reality
Every match lost like this
Seems like agony
I'm begging you, begging you come back to win

We've got to swallow our pride
Say that we're wrong
Stop blaming refs, the blame is on us
I want that team back
And I want it back now
If you believe the same
Don't ever let it go
You gotta believe in the spirit of Gas
It can heal all things
No I don't believe our season's terminal
I'm down on my knees, begging you please
Come back

Can we go back to the day our team was strong
Can you tell me how a progressing side goes wrong
Can somebody tell me how to get things back the way they used to be
Oh Gas give me the reason
I'm down on bended knee

SUE ASHTON 
With apologies to Boyz II Men

Again a reference to late 1998/99.

WHY IS FOZZIE NUMBER 9?

I stand here
In the early April sunlight
Bemused
Confused
And bewildered
So many questions:
Why is Fozzie number 9?
Why is Troughty number 8?
Who is in midfield?

Ninety minutes at the Racecourse ground
And my questions are still unanswered
I think
I have more now...
Now the match is finished
Than before the match began
Why was Marcus
and Dave Lee
....upfront?
My question hangs unvoiced

The Rovers fans sing
What a load of rubbish;
Normally
I'd think getting at the team
Is wrong
Today:
it seems justified somehow

What formation did we play?
No
I don't suppose we had a formation today
Did we?

We can't just say
Don't mention the R-word
I'll say it...
RELEGATION
It's possible
I realise,
As we walk back to the car
Very possible

Memories of the FA Cup
The run of clean sheets
The Reading win
The excitement
The goals
The youngsters
Of the earlier part of the season
Nostalgia makes me wince
At the memories
They seem long ago now
Buried in the depths of time

Going home now
I recall
Guy's substitution
The curious tactics
( if they were really any )
Stephane, an unused spectator
Surplus keepers
Kuipers and Johnston
Questions won't end tonight
And yet...
When will they be answered?

SUE ASHTON
Wrexham 1 Gas 0
Sat April 3rd 1999

This match at Wrexham...what a stupid game! Of course, this was written before the days of squad numbers so the fact that Steve Foster was wearing the number 9 shirt was ridiculous!!

AFTER WREXHAM

He has betrayed the team. I watch the game
And think of nothing; I see and I hear nothing;
Yet seem, too, to be waiting, hoping in vain
For what we should, but never will, be doing
No pattern appears, no pass, no thought-out play,
No football, no ideas, no direction,
Neither owner nor manager nor ambition;
Only a season, stark, pointless, in ruins.

A C ASHTON 
after Edward Thomas
4th April 1999

My Dad's feelings on the same game