The Last Dance: a verse on the passing of a footballing powerhouse

We begin with the end of last season,

Our legs tired with the weight of loss,

Three painful dreadful penalties,

And we had become our own worst enemies. 


The sky beautifully blue but the air cold,

Pear Tree Tennent’s a failing remedy, 

A BUCS league title to hold,

But no cup winning story to be told.


After pensive summers we returned,

Vast holes left by those who graduated,

George, mainly because he was over six-foot-two,

And Jake, as there wasn’t a wall he wouldn’t run through. 


Alas our vital ingredients were not lost,

Sandy’s gentle massaging of raw talent, 

Combined with Hugh’s booming silhouette,

All cooked in Ed’s generously forthcoming sweat. 


With trials and plenty of tribulations,

New trees were ever fruitful,

Matching in their prepubescent facial hair,

Try pass Palmer and Perrett if you dare.


An Argentinian maestro found in Charlie,

And George well he could definitely run,

The joyful return of Matt our Canadian saviour

And Ollie to provide some borderline misbehaviour. 


Some games were ugly in their triumph,

Sean a new (York) breed of terrier ,

John made sure to leave defenders stood slanted.

And with Lewis a titanic tackle was always granted,


Some battles were more delicately fought,

With Jordan’s locks a muse for our flowing style.

Robbie’s rawness tempered by Embrik’s elegance,

Left opposition players speaking to pink elephants.  


As Ruben tried to impress his eight friends,

Success continued to grow on the horizon,

Jono motivated by that post-match cig,

and Yian the Insta pic of his rig.


Fergus’s Carhatt cloaked anarchy,

Infused with Jay’s Watford grit.

Topped by Harvey’s untamed fiery passion

Winning had become the latest fashion.


Now the scarlet dust has settled

Another intramural title on the shelf,

And without true rhyme or reason, 

We were invincible in BUCS this season,


All great things must come to an end,

Time to hang up the red and black,

For many it was our last dance, 

But hey, what a way to finish our final chance. 


A goodbye note – 

I appreciate the poem was already quite extra so I will keep this closing statement short. It’s been a beautiful 4 years with FSA from first year where we were the rough-and-ready villainous team, to fourth year where we resembled the ugly twin brother of total football. It’s provided a dose of health within a sea of detrimental lifestyle choices, a slurry of cathartic moments throughout stressful times and more than a few stories to be told for a while to come. I’ve had the privilege to play with an eclectic bunch: some talented and some who were very keen, some who were workhorses and some who had had a little too much fun the night before. Anyway, a sincere thank you to all and an apology for the stuttering half-time team talks, the erroneous criticisms and the horrendous number of heinous free kicks.  

Love Always,



Image Rights: Simon Hall