In response to a great OP and many of the replies, here's a composition I've posted before but got deleted - I hope I've not offended or broken any rules.
I went to my first game at the Vic in the 1950s, sometime after seeing the old Queen's coronation.
Fresh manager means a fresh start so be happy everyone.
An Oldie's OdeIn the heart of Staffordshire, a tale unfolds,
Of triumph and passion, Stoke City upholds.
Since its formation, a legacy untold,
A football journey, in red and white, bold.
From the Victoria Ground to the bet365,
Stoke City’s spirit, forever alive.
Promotions celebrated, victories derive,
In the Potters’ quest, where dreams arrive.
The ‘72 League Cup, a historic embrace,
Stoke’s prowess echoed in every chase.
FA Cup conflicts, etching their place,
In the annals of football, with power and grace.
Through the decades, stalwarts appeared,
Heroes on the pitch, their tales revered.
Gordon Banks saves were cheered,
Matthews the wizard, opponents most feared.
What more could make the fans to sing
Than Marko Arnautovic on the wing
What more could give a better sight
Than Terry Conroy in full flight
From Steele to Stein their goals sublime,
Hudson ballet on muddy slime,
Soo and Skeels and all the rest,
Smith or Shawcross, which was best?
Whose skill could bring the greater joy,
The boy Bojan or McIlroy,
Or whose mastery was the better,
A Peter Crouch or Ritchie header
Franklin and Hurst, England's best,
Wore red and white on their chest,
While Sidibe and Fuller's harmonic motion,
Took the City to promotion.
Captain Greenhoff truly grand,
But had to leave to repair a stand,
Greatest lefty, now there's a query,
Harry Burrows or Shaqiri?
To Nello Baldwin, a fervent cheer,
The club’s premier fan, crystal clear.
Through highs and lows, always here,
In Stoke’s triumphs, shedding a tear.
From Waddo to Hughes, managers wise,
Guided by Pulis, reaching the skies.
European ventures, under stadium lights,
A journey marked by valiant fights.
It is with regret I must admit,
That in this rhyme, not all names fit,
If there's a name I have not penned,
Hope it's has not caused me to offend.
The Britannia roar, a deafening sound,
As Stoke City’s anthem echoes around.
We'll be with you, to Delilah's sound,
In the heart of ST4, where dreams abound.
So here’s to the City, the Potteries' pride,
In red and white, through time we stride.
We'll be with you, where memories reside,
Following our heritage, side by side.