And so they lined up, the best that the country had to offer (or in this case the manager – deluded or not). Each man carried on his sleeve the hopes of an entire nation. His skill with a ball, mettle, and stamina were the ink and tip which over the course of an hour and a half of exertion would write a new chapter for the pint drizzling multitudes, who were simultaneously on the edge of their seats, hands on heart, singing “God Save the Queen”.
Retrospect is the critics abode: I make no apologies. The hyphen between kick-off and the final whistle, disallowed goal included, spoke little of English skill or – especially in the case of Gareth Barry – pace. It rather told the story of an efficient German machine, steered by a young midfielder by the name of Ozil who almost effortlessly disposed of what was once refereed to as the ‘Golden generation’. Tainted that night was the patriotism and pride painted by the numerous flags suspended across the stadiums, bedrooms, shops, and cars. Though God saved the Queen, it was not her but dejection that reigned in English hearts.
How does a side represent a nation if it cannot, even on paper, defeat the top four sides in it’s league? How do you justify Michael Carrick – the best English passer of the ball – not setting boot on grass throughout the campaign? Or an unfit Gareth Barry, a goalless Heskey, a recovering Ashley Cole, and an indisciplined Glen Johnson receiving call ups over West Brown, Agbonlahor, and Michael Dawson? Inexplicable thus the inevitable and despicable outcome.
Like the rest of the football lovers across the country, I stay hope, hide my dreams for another day, and wait patiently to see what other disaster will be painted over my kindled delusions. World class? Nah!
This is the true result. The burden we all have to carry for next couple of years (or more)!
Sad times indeed!
I have just finished uploading the available collections of poems. Thought to share this one. Feel free to check out the other collections on the poetry page.
This series of poems is a collection of prayers and thoughts. They carry within them the steppingstones on my theological journey. I will keep updating as the volumes grow. Feel free to comment or give feedback.
List of selected poems in collection:
So I leave Uxbridge on my way to Regent Street to get my Brother’s suit fitted for my wedding. While on the platform at West Drayton station waiting for the FGW train to Paddington, I notice an elderly man. He was black and I remember thinking he looked like Nelson Mandela. He had the hints of grey as well as the sunken eyes that told of vast experiences. There was something about him that drew me to make conversation but my sunglasses were on, that and my bright green jumper made me feel lost. You can’t approach a Mandela lookalike dressed like that.
This man intimidated me, because he represented what I had began to – and probably already had – lost. So I kept my sunglasses on and put my hood on. Picking a seat on the furthest end of the carriage I spent the journey staring out the window, sorrowful and yet determined to hide my discontent: never away from the gaze of the man, he was two seats away and within sight … Read more
© Denis Adide 2009
Ever since I became a Christian, there has been this pressure from within the (Christian) bubble driving me towards change. I am in no way saying that change is a bad thing, just stating here that this pressure can breed the wrong sort of change: that is, change in appearance – as in a masking of the lack of change – rather than change from within. The more I grappled with the pressure, the more I realized that it came – not from above, but rather horizontally – from looking at my fellow ‘brothers and sisters’ and comparing my circumstances with theirs. I quickly forgot that my salvation was just what it was, my own, and I had to work it out with as much ‘fear and trembling’ as everyone else. (Philippians 2:12) In my hay day, and even now sometimes if I’m to be honest, you’d be hard pressed to find a better Pharisee than me. The bible then – like my shirt and tie – had slowly become a means by which to separate myself from everyone else … Read more
© Denis Adide 2010
It was Friday night. I felt quite tired and frankly a little pissed off. It had been one of those extremely annoying days; everything hadn’t gone according to plan. I had had an argument with my mom earlier in the day which spilled over into miniscule disputes with my brothers and to cap it off, one of my closest friends had just posted a video on Facebook mocking the fact that I was engaged to a woman who is not black (I can’t even start on that issue now, so I’ll leave it for later). Needless to say, it was shaping up to end as a very bad day. Licking my wounds, I contemplated giving …… Read more
© Denis Adide 2010