Sport

Poem 942 – Did Will Play Football?

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After a meeting of minds
it seems the word on the street
is we’ve got the beating of them.
But here I sit conflicted
as on the final night
we’re visiting The Globe.
Can footie displace the Bard?
Can I follow the game on my phone?
Or wear an earbud to listen?
I’m sure the answer is no,
on each and every score –
pun definitely intended…
I’m hoping that the title
is not a sorry omen
it’s Love’s Labour’s Lost.

England play Argentina tonight in the World Cup semi-final. I’ve just realised that if they win the final is clashes with our trip to The Globe… Now there’s a quandary!
(15.07.36)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Hulki Okan Tabak on Unsplash

Poem 915 – Six Minutes

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Six minutes in, a penalty’s awarded!
A collective cheer and then the nation teeters,
Caught between the possibility
Of painful hope and previous could-have-beens.
An awkward miss, reminders of the past,
And here we go again. ‘So soon?’ we groan…
But VAR and trailing legs, a gift
of grace, and this time Kane dispatches it
And in that crazy moment England dreams.

Whilst writing this three more goals went in… Who knows how this will end.
(17.06.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by (Augustin-Foto) Jonas Augustin on Unsplash

Poem 850 – Just One Shot

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‘Let me show you how you do it’
he said taking the gun into
his tattooed arms. ‘Like this.’ He posed
making sure of our attention.

His body tensed and tattoos blocked
their ears. A pause. A shot. A miss.
A round of manly banter followed
whilst Kate quietly shoots and hits.

An enjoyable moment in today’s rifle shooting session.
(13.04.26)

© Ben Quant 2026

Poem 849 – Suspended

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I am that distant dot.
Up here the world is calm –
the turquoise sea is still
and all the globe is quiet.
Suspended up above
the angry clamour ceases:
perspective changes every-
thing. I long to stay.

In a fit of courage, I may have accidentally stepped off the edge of Babadag, 1800m up… Glorious!
(12.04.26)

© Ben Quant 2026

Poem 797 – Curling

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The stone’s released;
two staring eyes,
are fixed on the target.
I’m gripped by the drama,
ensnared by the tension,
and oscillating
advantage. It starts
to bend and curl
and turn until…
Crack! The perfect
ricochet.

I’ve never watched curling before tonight’s Olympic men’s semi-final between Great Britain and Switzerland. Totally transfixed by it.
(19.02.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Immo Wegmann on Unsplash

Poem 768 – European Nights

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The team sheet’s on the radio,
It’s time to start, the whistle blows,
As one the crowd stand up to roar,
The ball is kicked and off they go!

Like eager dogs fly from the doors,
Their fleeting feet pounding the floor,
To chase the mark, a spinning ball,
And swift to shoot, a goal to score.

It’s time for heroes to stand tall,
And answer adultion’s call,
In shooting straight the winning shot,
And with their nimble feet enthrall.

A goal tonight, the perfect plot.
The winner’s prize? Take home the lot.
So go on boys, give it all you’ve got!
So go on boys, give it all you’ve got!

I had no idea what to write tonight, so took another look at different poetry forms, and opted to try an interlocking rubaiyat. Liverpool were playing in Europe at the same time, so the two inevitably came together.
(21.01.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Daniel Norin on Unsplash

Poem 738 – Hertfordshire Hills

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We glide, we climb,
Our pedals turn,
We grunt and groan,
To creaking cranks,
And sighing pants,
Until we reach,
The top and fly.

After too long a break, I got on my bike again today and did the next leg of the London-Walsingham Camino doing a ~40 mile figure of eight around Ware, Hunsdon, the Hadhams, and Bishops Stortford. Really enjoyable spin and company.
(22.12.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Fat Lads on Unsplash