After Larkin's This is the Verse.
They fuck you up, your football team
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in tracksuits and shiny suits,
Who half the time were splashing cash
And half in and out of debtors courts.
Fan hands on misery to fan.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't support a team yourself.
More of this sort of stuff here
http://www.charltonlife.com/discussion/46386/new-article-if 
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Over many attempts of remembering how to score,
While I sat there, pants a'crapping, suddenly there came a tap in,
Our defenders find they're lacking, tracking back the marking's poor.
'Tis the referee,' I muttered, scrapping at the table's floor -
No strikers, a weak back four
Concerned that his team wouldnt rally
He edited a verse,
I think it got worse,
And did not help his likes and lols tally
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where Billy Davies took his Charlton oath;
Then took the other, nowhere as fair,
But having perhaps the better claim,
Because Dowie irked the Orange chair;
Though as for that the Powerpoint
Belied he was not not quite the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
He, Reed and Pardew took us down -
I doubted we would ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged after Curbs, and I—
I took the one I shouldn't have,
And that has made all the difference.