Hero For Two Minutes (POEM)

Hero For Two Minutes

How must it feel to be a big deal? 
To see the net bulge, then wheel away 
And celebrate with the crowd as a real hero? 
Hear them cheer and exclaim, “What a backheel!”

And how must it feel to say goodbyes then depart, 
Only to watch your former team succeed from afar? 
How must it feel to drive a flashy car, 
But go out on the pitch and see all your shots hit the bar? 

Is that the lot for many a football player? A fickle existence, 
Going through a cycle of moving from club to club? 
Picking words carefully to try and click with the fans; 
Hoping they applaud every kick and bestow affectionate nicknames? 

Which is a worse fate for a man to have befall him? 
Fail to perform or be a player fans can’t recall? 
Perhaps he clings to the few days when he stood tall, 
Like this example (for which I had to give my memory a trawl): 

One spring day in 2005 we chanted and shouted, 
“GIFTON NOEL-WILLIAMS! GIFTON NOEL-WILIAMS!” 
When he scored twice in two minutes against Sheffield United. 
That day he was Gifton the Gifted. He rallied and lifted the 
Players and supporters, made sure Stoke weren’t defeated, 
And was duly treated to the adulation his play befitted. 

But they were two of just thirteen goals that season, 
A meagre strike rate and reason enough to see 
Him play for seven more teams before reaching 30. 
Now he’s in America teaching kids how to play 
And searching for a club who’ll give him a game. 
I wonder if Gifton remembers the Britannia’s cheering that day?