The Tactician
Well-known member
- Feb 18, 2013
- 1,060
This was sent to me by a friend, I believe written by his son. Brought a little tear to my eye, great memories. 
Monday mornings were rarely any fun
With eleven Red Devils, the four Gooners three Spurs fans
A whole table of Kopites, Chelsea plastics next to Everton fanatics
Six new Cityzens had grown overnight to coincide with a billionaire takeover
A Villain or two-then me.
Branded blue and white, Albion through and through
But the others had never gone to a game and the result on Sky Sports
Brighton 0, Walsall 1, that was all they knew
Or so I thought
“9 men! You’re RUBBISH!” one laughed. The girls joined in
“Oi Brighton boy-great game Saturday!”
More laughter. But not once did they get under my skin
I was defiant. We WERE a great club
Our fans had done things they would never understand
Stood up and battled, fought tooth and nail
Fans United against Moneymen. A war waged so I could stand awestruck
With my dad in Withdean hail.
And I was always grateful to those before me
For everything, the battles to free us from evil regime
to bring the Albion home against the odds and unyielding opposers
But still you won. And gave me my local football team
One boy pushed through, hand in pocket
Waved two pence for all to see then delivered his line
“Brighton aren’t even worth this!” I was in hysterics
As stories of Mullery filled my head; my football bloodline
Taught young, to Peterborough away at 4 months old
Smuggled into the terrace in a baby chair
Growing up quick with the Albion my own religion
Every Saturday without fail; I was there
Not forgetting midweek-the cold Tuesday nights in bracing wind
Without protection at the very top of the stand, my seat for years
Only used on rare occasion when-surely not, GOAL!
A plastic springboard held me aloft in the best of atmospheres
Cup night. Man City at home, I was scared stiff
“Robinho! Sturridge! We’ll be massacred!” I said
Yet to win at Withdean all season, they were billionaires
Oh boy. If I knew the night ahead…
Extra time, to Penalties. KUIPERS SAVES!
This to win it. Surely not
Suddenly bedlam. We had won the day, City beaten!
Then back to earth, that was as good as it got
Every game scaling those mossy steps to grim perfection
Chewing gum and soggy chips trampled without a backward glance
Crewe at home. Managerless. A four-nil loss watched through despairing hands
Homeward trudge, dejected. Dad frustrated. “We’ve no chance”
A saviour at last. A certain shiny head our light at the end of the tunnel
This was it. To Orient. Another loss; then feeling like us against the universe
The young who’d only seen failure kept the faith
Together with the battle-scarred and weary who’d seen much worse.
Something had to give. I was desperate.
Nails bitten to shreds before I’d emerged from the woodland path
The roar from the stands disappeared into the trees as finally-we won!
5-0. A bloodbath
But so much to do and another loss Tuesday (Walsall again)
I was left sobbing. I felt I’d given everything. It wasn’t fair
And as if I could forget I was reminded each morning at school
A prompt reading of the league 1 table before class prayers
Five games left and doomed. Then suddenly unbeatable as
Colchester, Oldham and Bristol all fell. Next Huddersfield away
Ninety minutes with my ear pressed an inch from the radio
2-1. No! Wait-2-2! Hooray!
And so to Withdean.
Dad threatened to hoist me over the top of the stand
And into the trees if I didn’t stop babbling feverish excitement
We were staying up! 1-0. Dreamland
At minute 89 I raced down to the pitch
And fell immediately-I’d never run so fast!
My 9 year old legs danced in the goalmouth then collapsed
In blinding ecstasy, knees smeared with holy grass
Now years have flown, and here we are at last together
The Premier League. We’ve done it
This one’s for all who stood up and fought as one against Archer
War won with passion, fight and grit
And now we face the big boys once again, City opening day!
I can still hear their Withdean jeers “Shall we buy a ground for you?”
We meet again, this time thirty thousand in a community stadium by the sea
We’ve earned this. “Aguero WHO?”
So once again, Thank you to all who made it possible, legends
Who came before me. I’ve enjoyed it all, every single game
A youngster needs his football. So thanks for Falmer, my home
You built it, chaps. And I came
Monday mornings were rarely any fun
With eleven Red Devils, the four Gooners three Spurs fans
A whole table of Kopites, Chelsea plastics next to Everton fanatics
Six new Cityzens had grown overnight to coincide with a billionaire takeover
A Villain or two-then me.
Branded blue and white, Albion through and through
But the others had never gone to a game and the result on Sky Sports
Brighton 0, Walsall 1, that was all they knew
Or so I thought
“9 men! You’re RUBBISH!” one laughed. The girls joined in
“Oi Brighton boy-great game Saturday!”
More laughter. But not once did they get under my skin
I was defiant. We WERE a great club
Our fans had done things they would never understand
Stood up and battled, fought tooth and nail
Fans United against Moneymen. A war waged so I could stand awestruck
With my dad in Withdean hail.
And I was always grateful to those before me
For everything, the battles to free us from evil regime
to bring the Albion home against the odds and unyielding opposers
But still you won. And gave me my local football team
One boy pushed through, hand in pocket
Waved two pence for all to see then delivered his line
“Brighton aren’t even worth this!” I was in hysterics
As stories of Mullery filled my head; my football bloodline
Taught young, to Peterborough away at 4 months old
Smuggled into the terrace in a baby chair
Growing up quick with the Albion my own religion
Every Saturday without fail; I was there
Not forgetting midweek-the cold Tuesday nights in bracing wind
Without protection at the very top of the stand, my seat for years
Only used on rare occasion when-surely not, GOAL!
A plastic springboard held me aloft in the best of atmospheres
Cup night. Man City at home, I was scared stiff
“Robinho! Sturridge! We’ll be massacred!” I said
Yet to win at Withdean all season, they were billionaires
Oh boy. If I knew the night ahead…
Extra time, to Penalties. KUIPERS SAVES!
This to win it. Surely not
Suddenly bedlam. We had won the day, City beaten!
Then back to earth, that was as good as it got
Every game scaling those mossy steps to grim perfection
Chewing gum and soggy chips trampled without a backward glance
Crewe at home. Managerless. A four-nil loss watched through despairing hands
Homeward trudge, dejected. Dad frustrated. “We’ve no chance”
A saviour at last. A certain shiny head our light at the end of the tunnel
This was it. To Orient. Another loss; then feeling like us against the universe
The young who’d only seen failure kept the faith
Together with the battle-scarred and weary who’d seen much worse.
Something had to give. I was desperate.
Nails bitten to shreds before I’d emerged from the woodland path
The roar from the stands disappeared into the trees as finally-we won!
5-0. A bloodbath
But so much to do and another loss Tuesday (Walsall again)
I was left sobbing. I felt I’d given everything. It wasn’t fair
And as if I could forget I was reminded each morning at school
A prompt reading of the league 1 table before class prayers
Five games left and doomed. Then suddenly unbeatable as
Colchester, Oldham and Bristol all fell. Next Huddersfield away
Ninety minutes with my ear pressed an inch from the radio
2-1. No! Wait-2-2! Hooray!
And so to Withdean.
Dad threatened to hoist me over the top of the stand
And into the trees if I didn’t stop babbling feverish excitement
We were staying up! 1-0. Dreamland
At minute 89 I raced down to the pitch
And fell immediately-I’d never run so fast!
My 9 year old legs danced in the goalmouth then collapsed
In blinding ecstasy, knees smeared with holy grass
Now years have flown, and here we are at last together
The Premier League. We’ve done it
This one’s for all who stood up and fought as one against Archer
War won with passion, fight and grit
And now we face the big boys once again, City opening day!
I can still hear their Withdean jeers “Shall we buy a ground for you?”
We meet again, this time thirty thousand in a community stadium by the sea
We’ve earned this. “Aguero WHO?”
So once again, Thank you to all who made it possible, legends
Who came before me. I’ve enjoyed it all, every single game
A youngster needs his football. So thanks for Falmer, my home
You built it, chaps. And I came
