The World’s Best Football Jokes

Afterwards in the bar, the Cambridge captain approached Johnson and said sportingly, ‘Well done, old boy! A magnificent effort! By the way, what are you studying at Balliol?’

The porter thought for a moment, then said brightly, ‘Sums!’

One of the lesser-known stories in Greek mythology tells of a classic football match on Mount Olympus between the Gods and the Mortals. The Gods trounced the Mortals 8–0 and attributed their victory to the brilliance of their new centaur-forward.

A First Division reserves team recently played against a side made up of long-term prisoners from Strangeways. (The Strangeways team were playing at home, of course!) The game had only been in progress for about ten minutes when the referee noticed that the prison team were fielding twelve men. Blowing his whistle angrily, he called the Strangeways captain over and said, ‘What the hell’s the idea of having twelve men on the field? Don’t you know that’s illegal?’

‘Well,’ said the captain, unabashed, ‘you know us – we cheat!’

A First Division player not noted for his modesty was regaling his friends in the local pub. ‘I came out of the ground after the match last Saturday and there were literally hundreds of fans outside waving autograph books at me!’ Noticing the sceptical looks on the faces of his listeners, he added, ‘It’s quite true! If you don’t believe me, ask Kenny Dalglish – he was standing right next to me!’

The rather unpopular secretary of a Fourth Division club was recently rushed to hospital with a suspected duodenal ulcer. The next day he received a get-well card from the club committee with the postscript: ‘The decision to send you this card was carried by six votes to four, with two abstentions.’

At a local derby between Arsenal and Spurs last season, a spectator suddenly found himself in the thick of dozens of flying bottles. ‘There’s nothing to worry about, lad,’ said the elderly chap standing next to him. ‘It’s like the bombs during the war. You won’t get hit unless the bottle’s got your name on it.’

‘That’s just what I’m worried about,’ said the fan. ‘My name’s Johnny Walker!’

In a crucial Cup semi-final a few years ago, the capacity crowd of 30,000 watched a rather diminutive striker get possession of the ball early in the second half. He was immediately tackled by three large defenders, and went down under a pile of thrashing arms and legs. Emerging dazed from the mêlée a few moments later, he looked round at the crowded stands and gasped, ‘How did they all get back in their seats so quickly?’

A famous international footballer was asked to appear nude in the centrefold of a glossy new women’s magazine. ‘Our intention is to photograph you standing nude holding a ball,’ said the features editor.

‘I see,’ said the footballer. ‘What will I be doing with my other hand?’

The match was over and the team captain, who had muffed three easy goal shots, came over to the manager and said, ‘You’ll have to excuse me if I dash off, chief. I’ve got a plane to catch and I don’t want to miss it.’

‘Off you go, then,’ said the manager. ‘And better luck with the plane.’

The angry captain snarled at the referee. ‘What would happen if I called you a blind bastard who couldn’t make a correct decision to save his life?’

‘It would be a red card for you.’

‘And if I didn’t say it but only thought it?’

‘That’s different. If you only thought it but didn’t say it, I couldn’t do a thing.’

‘Well, we’ll leave it like that, then, shall we?’ smiled the captain.

‘I hear you’re from Wakefield. Does your town boast a football team?’

‘We have a team, yes, but it’s nothing to boast about.’

‘We’ve got the best football team in the country – unbeaten and no goals scored against us!’

‘How many games have you played?’

‘The first one’s next Saturday.’

A supporter arrived at the ground one Saturday to find the place completely empty. He went to the office and asked an official, ‘What time does the match start?’

‘There’s no match today,’ replied the official.

‘But there must be!’ argued the fan. ‘It’s Saturday.’

‘I’m telling you there’s no match today,’ repeated the official.

‘But there’s always a match on Saturday afternoon,’ said the fan, ‘even if it’s only a reserves game.’

‘Watch my lips,’ shouted the irate official. ‘There is no M–A–T–F–C–H today!’

‘Well, for your information,’ the would-be spectator shouted back, ‘there’s no F in match.’

‘That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!’ yelled the official.

A man went off to a football match one Saturday afternoon, and while he was away his wife was visited by a ‘friend’ who just happened to be jogging past her house and was dressed in shorts and singlet. The wife was happily entertaining him on the sofa when suddenly they heard her husband coming through the front door. Quick as a flash, the visitor hid behind the large television set in the corner. The husband came in and said, ‘It’s started to pour with rain so I thought I’d come home and watch the second half on telly.’ He switched on the television and settled down to watch the game. After about twenty minutes the wife’s visitor started to get severe cramp so, casting caution to the winds, he calmly got up from behind the set and walked out of the room. The husband turned to his wife and said, ‘That’s funny – I didn’t see the ref send him off.’

It is said that in Ireland, if it looks like rain before a match, they play the extra time first.

‘Is your new striker fast?’

‘Is he fast! He’s so fast, the rest of the team have to run twice as fast just to keep up with him!’

The manager and coach of an Irish team were discussing the players they had on their books and the manager asked, ‘How many goals has O’Halloran scored this season?’

‘Exactly double what he scored last season,’ replied the coach. ‘Eleven.’

‘I just don’t understand it,’ an Irish footballer complained. ‘One match I play very well, then the next match I’m terrible.’

‘Well,’ said his wife, ‘why don’t you just play every other match?’

‘I don’t care about results!’ said an Irish team manager being interviewed on television. ‘Just so long as our team wins!’

Two Irish team managers promised their players a pint of Guinness for every goal they scored during an important match. The final score was 119–98.

In the heat of the game, one of the players threw a vicious punch. The victim was all set to get stuck into him when the referee rushed up and held him back. ‘Now then, O’Hara! You know you mustn’t retaliate!’

‘Come on, ref!’ said O’Hara. ‘He retaliated first!’

Three football codes prevail in Ireland: Rugby, which is defined as a thugs’ game played by gentlemen; soccer – a gentleman’s game played by thugs; and Gaelic football – a thugs’ game played by thugs!

Two old men were holding up the queue outside the turnstyle before the game, while one of them hunted for his ticket. He looked in his coat pockets and his waistcoat pockets and his trouser pockets, all to no avail. ‘Hang on a minute,’ said the gateman. ‘What’s that in your mouth?’ It was the missing ticket!

As they moved inside his mate said, ‘Crikey, Cyril! You must be getting senile in your old age. Fancy having your ticket in your mouth and forgetting about it!’

‘I’m not that stupid,’ said old Cyril. ‘I was chewing last week’s date off it.’

The manager of an Irish club was talking to a young player who had applied for a trial with the club. ‘Do you kick with both feet?’ asked the manager.

‘Don’t be silly!’ said the trialist. ‘If I did that, I wouldn’t be able to stand up, would I?’