When racing fast it’s easy enough
To make a wrong decision
Just be sure that when you crash
You’re on television
You’re on television
You’re on television
You’re on television

In the light of the ignorance and misplaced fear
Of the panicked bosses of the Football League
It isn’t surprising that hugging and kissing
Are banned on account of the threat of AIDS
It isn’t surprising, but it’s another depressing
Part of the continuing homophobia
Of old boys clubs scared of men touching
Scared of men openly displaying affection

From Upton Park to the Baseball Ground
From Old Trafford to Anfield Road
It’s the same old story if you’re disabled
Just token gestures, no real facilities
All those clubs so famous and rich
Stick the disabled by the side of the pitch
Exposed to snow and wind and rain
With a limited view of the game
But down at Oakwell things are different
You don’t have to stay at home if you’re disabled
There’s a special stand, with a decent view
What big clubs don’t consider–Barnsley do!

When Grandstand’s finished, and Sport On Two
And there’s nothing much left to do
Too lazy to leave the armchair
Can only manage to plug in the computer
And pretend that this is exercise
Playing sports by pressing keys all day
Well it was never meant to be this way
Computer sport in a high-tech society
Television crippled you!
And now there’s nothing much left to do
So get out of the living room and into a kit
On your marks, get set, go–get fit!

Sniffer Clarke
Chopper Harris
The Doog
Crazy Horse
Norman Bite Yer Legs
The Barnsley Spud
Bonetti The Cat
Alan Ball’s White
Alan Ball’s White
Alan Ball’s White Boots

At the beach, pressure’s on
Dad in trunks and vest
Four years old, today’s the day
He gives me my big test
Picking up a beach ball
Red, green, yellow, blue
He throws it at my feet
Wonders what I’ll do
Do I kick it back?
Beautifully struck!
He’s dying to get his son
Into a football strip
Or run away to build a castle
And precipitate the end
Of our relationship

In ’36 the world’s teams
Played up, played up, and played the game
Runners, jumpers, footballers
All sieg-heilling the Fuhrer
Not so the black Americans
Who, point-blank, refused
And on returning home from this precedent
Were refused a meeting with the president

Away from work finding peace
With a swing on the seventeenth lined with trees
You’re out playing golf for the day
Hoping that with a bit of luck
Someone will study a chemistry book
And blow up the office while you’re away

At Farnley Park cricket ground there’s a Sycamore tree
And it stands thirty feet inside the boundary
I think that someone slapped a Preservation Order on the tree
So it’s good the players don’t take the game too seriously
Now there are no advertising boards to get in the way
And no computer scoreboard, hip, hip, hooray
Just an old bloke and a stubby pencil end
Who misses a run or two now and again
You see he’s too busy looking at the Sycamore tree
He says, “It’s all part of the game”
And I agree

I heard that in the First World War
The soldiers called a truce
For a Christmas game of football
Instead of fighting their pointless war
Instead of fighting their pointless war
Pointless war, pointless war, pointless war
A general later condemned the men
Said that “Fraternizing with the enemy
Was an appalling breach of regulations”
So draw your own conclusions
Draw your own conclusions
Draw your own conclusions