The Belfield Lament

By Pete Goulding

Oh Aoife McDaid, have you heard the bad news,
So sad I can barely stand up in my shoes?
They tell me the pitch out in Belfield is gone,
The pitch we have scored many fine goals upon.
There’s very few grounds in the Eircom League which
Allow you to walk round four sides of the pitch.
But now, to my open and utter distress,
The papers all tell me that now there’s one less.

Oh Aoife, ’twas only on last Friday night,
I sat on the knoll and gazed down from a height,
And like an old shepherd, up there on the hill,
I watched as we comfortably beat them two nil.
I danced like a goblin and whirled round my scarf,
As Jayo and Richie scored one in each half,
But now my poor heart is emotionally sore
To learn that the ground out in Belfield’s no more.

Flower Lodge was a ground that was open and cold,
And I didn’t mind greatly when Milltown was sold.
The old Markets Field wasn’t really much loss,
And its hard to be wistful about Harolds Cross.
I let out a whoop when Kilcohan Park died,
And Terryland Park had a bog down one side,
But I’ve always liked Belfield, on down through the years,
And my brown eyes are misty and welling with tears.

Oh Aoife McDaid, maybe you’ll tell me why
There’s a need for apartments to blot out the sky.
There’s a chill wind a-blowing and I fancy I feel
A shiver from the ghost of poor Tony O’Neill.
For next year we’ll head to the new Belfield Bowl,
And I hope that we’ll still find our route to the goal,
But though I love Tolka, I’m somewhat dismayed
That Belfield is gone now, sweet Aoife McDaid.

This poem originally appeared in print in STIG Volume VI, Issue VIII