The Intellectuals
you can’t say ‘cheers’ drinking
pints from plastic cups,
they don’t CHING!
what happens if we win?
it’ll be stonewall silence,
like a brawl without the violence,
you can’t inflict serious damage
with plastic beer bottles,
they don’t smash when
fashioned for weapons,
we’ve got to tool ourselves up
before the away team beckons,
tribes materialise either side
of the greasy spoon divide,
eggs are cooked sunny side up,
bacon baps consumed like crack
will haunt the gutters come 3am
when binge drinking inspires
a violent, coordinated, involuntary
process driven by the brains vomiting centre,
kebabs and stomach contents
will resemble placenta
floating down sewer streams,
kick-off’s at 3pm then it’s total mayhem,
some are here for more holistic measures,
they don’t need skins to beat,
Nietzsche orders a pint
and takes a seat
discussing the advantages
of a 424 formation,
Charlton’s tipped for relegation,
“We’re in the little leagues now baby”
a South London pasty never tasted so good,
meanwhile ...... in The Dog & Crook
Einstein tries to articulate
his love for fine wines,
he’s far too busy doing lines
to provide any in-depth analysis
about the ‘opulent’ notes
incentivising every swallow,
he’s proper shitfaced
as he downs another bottle of Merlot,
Karl Marx bumps into Plato
on a quick trip to the toilet
“that last shot on goal had nothing on it”
there’s no time to philosophise
about the repressed
the opposing side’s
beating their chest,
desperately trying
to smash plastic bottles
to gouge at the intellectuals,
Matchday - the final whistle blows,
Socrates and Aristotle
want
to
throttle
the ref,
he’s made a lot of enemies
giving away penalties
like free bottles of Chablis,
silence falls over the Valley,
the inevitable fuss
on the night bus disperses,
streets settle to stonewall silence
reminiscent of a brawl
without the violence
you can’t say ‘cheers’ drinking
pints from plastic cups,
they don’t CHING!
what happens if we win?
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