I thought readers may enjoy a laugh at my memories of Mansfield Town Football Club’s early days captured in this poem I wrote.
The Super Stags
There I stood covered in smoke from fags,
To watch my team, The Super Stags.
They say a fool that’s what I am,
But I recall three nil we beat West Ham.
The Super Stags that is their name,
They say football is a funny old game.
They dribble, shoot and sometimes score,
But ungrateful supporters always want more.
Plenty of goals and support from you,
Will be enough for Division Two.
You can see Greaves in his little box,
Wondering what to do with Brian Cox.
Defenders, wingers and strikers too,
And there’s Stingy, he’s thinking, I’ve got the ball, What shall I do?
The referee is up to his tricks,
He’s given Town another free kick.
From Hodges to Kearney and then on Cassel’s head,
It went past the keeper as if he was dead.
The ref blows his whistle; it’s the end of the game,
The Super Stags yet again, have lived up to their name.
Written by Eric Wheatley
Have you a poem about the Stags or just a memory of your time watching them? Let us know via firstname.lastname@example.org