Daily poem

On their monitor screens

And speculate whose shares to buy

Which is the lucky team?

While all around the country

Mr Commerce rubs his hands

As another hospitality suite

Is added to the stand.

Club shops are full to bursting

With every kind of gear

And tills are never silent -

There's a new strip every year.

Some clubs are fielding millionaires

With agents close at hand

To guide their wealthy clients on

To soccer's Promised Land.

With contracts worthless paper

And club-men rare and few

Greed, which starts up at the top,

Is sadly spreading through.

Already profit says it all

The fans have little say

If they can't keep on paying

They must simply go away.

The sport has gone and business rules

There're profits to be had

From what was once 'the Beautiful Game'

A fact that's true - but sad. By Kath Brown

Aintree Road, Little Lever

Converted for the new archive on 14 July 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.