Poems on Players: Jack Parkinson, Liverpool F.C.


January 10, 1910
Many forwards I admire –
There’s the winger who’s a flier.
An antelope for speed, I like him much;
But the artist, on the whole,
is the one  who can control
The leather near the goal with subtle touch.

Who, when centres whip across,
Ne’er appeareth at a loss;
His head is thereabouts, or else his boot.
Whilst the ball is coolly met,
And deflected in the net:
The forward who, like Parkinson, can shoot.

Jack Parkinson

Fancy dribbling in midfield,
Satisfaction great may yield –
You’ll hear the crowd applaud and make
a din:
But I like the player best.
Who displays the greatest cest.
To trap the ball near goal and bang it in.

Here’s a forward calm and cool –
He’s the joy of Liverpool –
Whose exploits as a shot create furores;
He’s a demon keen who shoots
With a brace of magic boots,
And 10 to 1 with half a chance, he scores.

Be the distance short or great,
He can seal a keeper’s fate
With volley or with grounder, swift and hard;
May his zeal and skill ne’er flag.
May he add unto his bag –
His heavy bag – of goals, thus hopes your
bard.
(Athletic News: January 10, 1910)

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