Ian Martin – A poet reflects on the city’s split allegiances and shared passion.
Football in Liverpool has a habit of shaping more than matchdays. It settles into families, histories, and the small rituals that last far longer than any 90 minutes. Ian Martin’s contribution to the 52 for 26 Poetry Project explores exactly that: the split loyalties, the banter, and the unspoken understanding that comes from being a family divided between red and blue.
Martin writes from a position many will recognise. He’s a Blue, as were his father and brothers. But the other half of the household tells a different story — his mother, his son, and his grandson’s all firmly aligned with Liverpool. Instead of tension, he finds affection in the divide: a rhythm of shared teasing, mutual support, and the familiar sense that these allegiances, however passionately held, knit a family together rather than pull it apart. The poem reflects this gentle tug-of-war, suggesting that these loyalties will stretch well beyond the lives of those who hold them.
Retirement didn’t quiet Martin’s creative impulses; it did the opposite. After stepping back from his career, he set himself a clear goal: finally committing to the writing he’d always wished he’d pursued. That ambition found structure in an unexpected place — the programme for Southport Football Club. As club poet for a year, and then the writer behind his own dedicated page for two more, Martin discovered both discipline and joy in putting words to the game.
More recently, stepping into performance poetry has opened a new path, one that continues to expand his sense of what poetry can be. The result is work shaped by lived experience, by local identity, and by an understanding that football isn’t just a sport here — it’s a language spoken across generations.
Why do you mock me, am I not your brother?
I sent you all congratulatory notes
On your first title win, after thirty years
But all you could do, was remind me
It’s 33 years since yours, amongst your cheers
Why do you mock me, am I not your brother
Let’s not get started on the Champions League
You always point out the 6 stars on your chest!
Knowing we have only made the group stages
And the European cup winners cup was our best
We stood next to you, cheering your first win.
Your first Champions League was truly magic
A team from our Proud city of Liverpool,
Champions The we heard’
Liverpool are magic, Everton are tragic
We drifted away shocked at those haunting words
And the anger at your mocking really started
Derby matches became more eagerly contested
You were either a blue, a red or just parted
Yet we felt and shared your pain at Heysel
When the crumbling wall killed too many fans
It might of robbed us of some European glory
We are two teams from one city, so we shared your ban
We stood by you after the tragedy of Hillsborough
With its shocking events and false stories told
We refused to buy or even read the sun paper
I backed your campaign, would not let you fold
I held colleagues that day, effected by events
Like brothers in arms we stood side by side
I bowed my head in front of the 96 burning candles
When you won, my heart was filled with Scouse pride
So yes we have stood together throughout my life
On the Kop, the Gladys Street end and in many bars
Cheering the blue or the red of our teams
In this proud and buzzing city of ours
So, why do you mock me, am I not your brother ?
