Last Day Nerves.

The football season has reached its climax and by the time you read this, it will likely all be done. The final day of the year never fails to excite and ignite us as supporters, whatever end of the table you're looking at.
Today, it happens to be the top as anything but a West Ham victory (with Andy Carroll surely the man to do it) will see Manchester City crowned victors at the expense of the long suffering Liverpool fans. For them, the hangover from the bank holiday looks set to be a memorable one.
I'm a fence sitter as to which way I want it to go, I'll admit but, given that I support a football league club rather than the top flight behemoth, I've had a very different experience this year.
As it happens,  the mighty Blackpool got out of jail by accident and after a decade of promotions and 'best trips we've ever been on' to quote the song, it was a massively tense encounter. So for Bristol Rovers' sunken pirates, Birmingham's escapees, the wandering Wycombers and everyone else whose beloved side had a last day twitcher- this poem is for you.

Last Day Nerves

The scarves are on for one last time,
silent prayers made not to be beaten
as we gather in the turnstile lines
for the last game of the season.

The tables checked and checked again;
each contender for relegation.
When the whistle goes at three o'clock
we know every permutation.

This scene played out across the land
from the South West to North East.
It might be in other people's hands
on this day of destiny.

The ups and downs at various grounds
bring updates with every goal.
Hellish minutes as rumours spread around
and you're reaching the end of the road.

So for chewed fingernails and tearful grown men
next year, please start out as you ought to.
These sleepless long nights and taunting from friends
are just pain for the football supporter.



Thanks for reading,
S.