 Between The Lines, The Irreverent Poetry Of Ipswich Town. No.44 - Stress
Written by The_Flashing_Smile on Friday, 24th Apr 2026 17:46
One word sums this game up. And the rest of the season, I imagine.
Charlton Athletic 1:2 Ipswich Town, 22/04/2026
Stress Stress is away on a Wednesday in
the Championship, business end, needing a win.
Stress is a loose cross, across your own box,
from a left-back who should be left back in the stocks.
Stress is a parry, and nobody blocks.
Stress is a goal down with seconds on our clocks.
Stress is a wobble as the opposition gobble
up the yards,
breaking fast and you
can barely string a pass.
Rattled, your winger battled, trying.
Dying on his arse.
Then you plunder from some wonder
under a Valley floodlight.
Furlong, on song, a brief relief
from stress: a respite.
Stress is getting on top but not
slotting shots away.
Stress: Azon azoff night,
(quite similar to the day!)
Stress is a pressure penalty
that squirms beneath the keeper.
Stress is a slow clock’s tick tocks,
like a solid rock, a creeper
through eight minutes of added time.
By bedtime I’m a mess.
Thanks to the gods, ironically even
the one who invented
stress.
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StowTractor added 13:41 - Apr 29
Imagine the stress on Saturday now.
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