I've got meself a fella and he's a footy freak,
Who thinks and dreams of football and cheers the Crows each week.
When footy fever grips him, the frenzy's in full swing,
At home chores are neglected and Carey is the king.

Farewell romantic evenings, sweet talk when lights are low.
It's shush for Sam and Eddie, me fella loves their show.
To bed he wears a beanie, in colours of the Crows.
When I wake up each morning, a pom-pom's up me nose.

Would you believe, me fella, adores a teddy-bear,
That sings the Crows' song daily? To stop it. I don't dare.
Each time it sings the chorus, I listen hard, to see,
If The Pride of South Australia could possibly be me.

Australian Rules is tricky, so I'm still in the dark.
Tell me why, you footy fans, most players are called Mark?
There are both good and great Marks and the finest Mark of all,
So will a Bill or Des or Jack ever see the ball?

The news from the Tribunals on Tuesday is a must.
Handsome guys in suits and ties, a girl can't help but trust.
A hero oozing innocence, sincerely pleads his case,
While the bloke he didn't hit, wears stitches on his face.

I suffer through post-mortems, poor passes, chances missed.
When our great Crows are beaten, all Adelaide is pissed.
I'll always need me fella, I love him more each hour,
But last weekend he dumped me, I barracked for Port Power.

Jill Wherry

first published in Yellow Moon 14, Summer 2003. The poem was a second place winner in the ‘humorous poem’ category of Yellow Moon competition.

visit Jill Wherry's page