Goalkeeper in a Hat: A Poem

*this poem orignally featured in Diego Magazine Issue #3

A man in a pub once told me,

Apropos of nothing - as men in pubs often are,

“Son, the three maddest professions. Let me tell you,

Chef,

Drummer,

Goalkeeper”.

You have to say there’s a truth to that.

All three – mavericks. Outliers,

They are the rockstars of their respective fields,

The goalkeeper is the coolest man on the pitch,

Stood solitary and tall between imposing frame of white,

Surveying his scene,

Always ready for action.

Should the dam of the back four break,

The goalkeeper remains stoic in the face of his oncoming fate,

The last line of defence,

“Don’t worry lads, I’ve got this”, he thinks to himself,

Not that he’ll let on,

He’ll make his save and immediately rise to bollock his defence,

It’s just panto to him though,

Kayfabe,

Our hero needs to put on a show.

There is one instance when the façade slips,

We’ve seen it in summer heights,

Or low winter sun,

Stadium edge meets ray of light and cuts giant crescents across green,

Entire goalmouths bathed in gold,

You’d think the stadium designers would take this into consideration more,

Maybe they do. Maybe it’s deliberate,

Architecture firms comprised entirely of failed goalkeepers - minds heavy with revenge,

Our hero is in trouble. “Can’t see a thing”,

He dons a cap.

You know the scene,

Club crescent, bit too big, doesn’t even go with his kit,

“What’s he wearing?”

“He looks like he’s won a competition to be there”,

“Y’know it’s actually an achievement for a footballer to look like a full kit wanker while playing”,

It’s a depressing sight, truth be told.

Picture Gianluigi Buffon parrying an effort round the post,

Springing back up into action with bouncing, tousled hair as full of body as his post-match Chianti,

This picture loses a little when Gigi looks like your Dad at Disney World Florida ’02.

I mean I get it,

The hat,

I get the functional purpose it serves,

But it betrays our hero’s coolness in the moment,

Like having to run for a bus,

“Honestly, I’d rather get the next one than let them see me do that little jog”.

Perhaps my vanity is just that,

Perhaps it’s not shared,

I’m not an athlete, after all,

Just a guy worried about his inability to pull off hats,

But know this,

When that ball sails towards you,

Margins between success and failure so paper thin,

There is a fine line between being a hero,

And a prick in a hat.