If I were King of Blundell Park

Cod Almighty | Article

by Alistair Wilkinson

28 October 2021

Al's winning entry from a recent poetry slam

If I were king of Blundell Park,
Myself, alone, just me,
I'd make the bite as bad as the bark
I'd make the crowd taste victory,
Delicious and sweet, moment after moment,
A perfect pass to outwit an opponent,
A tackle, a touch, a tasty shot,
Future dreams asleep in a cognizant cot.

If I were king of Blundell Park,
Ten thousand throats will sing themselves raw,
We'll have a team to make its mark,
Eleven heroes, and every one of them will score.
And every striker will be a Mendonca,
Except the ballers, they can be Jack Lester!
Every player will be magic, oozing class
On a field of emeralds, a wizard behind every blade of grass.

If I were king of Blundell Park
It'll be the most beautiful place ever seen
High or low, in the light or in the dark,
Our own superstars on our own silver screen.
A Pontoon’s worth of wishes will all come true,
Silver trumpets will call us to our pew,
And we’ll all still be kids, kicking every ball,
And the players will be ten feet tall!

King of success at Blundell Park,
Floodlights scraping the sky,
King of delights at Blundell Park,
The crowd skimming a permanent high.
There'll be haddock and chips with every ticket.
In the summer we’ll host England cricket.
We'll drink beer that keeps us thin
And sup while watching Matthews on the wing.

King of dreams at Blundell Park
Black and white swans will fly in formation
King of the north at Blundell Park,
We'll have noble players, a new noble nation.
We'll all be smoking healthy fags,
Arriving for the game in chauffeured Jags,
Sitting close, rubbing knees in the warm cold,
The ones left behind never grown old.

King of the seas at Blundell Park,
I'll lift her into the estuary, set sail in the Humber,
King of the trawlers at Blundell Park,
We’ll plough the waves, mariners without number.
For everyone, an enormous catch
No one will be our match,
No one will do what we can,
It’ll be a skipper’s life for every fan.

If I were king of Blundell Park,
My self, alone, just me,
A horizon moon makes a silhouette so stark,
Black and white, written for all to see.
A book, a memoir made of brick and plastic seats,
A place where moments are made of treats.
Everyone we've ever known, every team,
Will be together in a floodlit dream.