The haiku is generally considered the shortest form of poem in the world.

A rich narrative

loaded into three lines and

17 word-bits

Yet the literary academics and poetry pros who decide these things will almost certainly never have spent too much precious time staring at the pools guide in the back of the paper, lost in reflective reverie. The thing is, if you’re in the market for concise but transcendental allusion, the quickfire modernist stylings of the fixture list makes your average three-line Japanese ditty seem more long-winded than the Mahabharata.

So much depends upon a couple of words, even if their close proximity appears underwhelming at first glance. Take Saturday’s card. “Southampton-Leicester”? Not a rivalry that resonates down the ages. Yet to a certain generation, it evokes memories of a monsoon at Filbert Street in 1983. The pitch was glazed with rain water, so much so that when the Foxes midfielder Steve Lynex took a tumble, he was able to perform three breaststrokes and propel himself through a puddle a few yards upfield. A priceless image conjured by a one-line poem.

Where to start with “Arsenal-West Ham”? Instant visions of Willie Young hauling down Paul Allen towards the end of the 1980 FA Cup final, youthful idealism trumped by crushing cynicism? The jarring sight of the Gunners legend Liam Brady in a Hammers shirt, knocking Arsenal out of the same competition in 1989? Or thousands of match-day goers, coaxed from iconic venues integral to their club’s identity, traipsing the bleak streets of London, knowing they’ve been grifted but not yet ready to admit it, never to go home again? Three words, three tales of yearning, and those haikus suddenly feel as interminable as the transcript of a Roy Hodgson press conference.

“Liverpool-Brighton” recalls the first ever match played at Anfield on a Sunday. Jimmy Melia and Jimmy Case returned to their old stomping ground in 1983 and knocked their former club out of the Cup thanks to some high-tempo pressing tactics. It’ll never catch on. Meanwhile “Bournemouth-Everton” have come together on only 10 occasions in the entire history of time, yet the pair have already delivered that 6-3 thriller at Goodison last year, Ross Barkley celebrating before he’d even scored. Every fixture generates a singular memory …

… or if it doesn’t, you can always nudge the parameters out a little. With a little creative licence, “Wolverhampton Wanderers-Manchester City” paints a picture of livid Wolves supremo Stan Cullis sitting in the Maine Road stands, hot steam whistling out of every facial aperture, watching City losing to Burnley in the last match of the 1959-60 season. Denis Law air-kicked most uncharacteristically from close range not once but twice and the result allowed the Clarets to pip Wolves to the title by a point. Wolves had beaten Burnley 6-1 just a month before. Oh Denis!

But “Huddersfield-Cardiff” tops them all, two words that elegantly chip “Michael” and “Thomas” into a cocked hat. Because as anyone between the ages of 105 and 115 will doubtless recall, in the 1923-24 season, the Terriers and the Bluebirds served up the greatest last-day drama of all.

Cardiff had joined the Football League only four years previously but their striker Len Davies was scoring for fun, and they already had one fourth-place finish to their name. This time round they topped the table for nearly the entire season, and with one game remaining led Huddersfield by a point. The Terriers had two games left but frittered their advantage away by losing at Aston Villa. At which point, according to their captain Sam Wadsworth, they “got to work with pencil and paper, working out goal averages. We gave ourselves headaches. We were unable to agree on the figures.”

Their manager Herbert Chapman intervened, explaining that if Cardiff won their last match at Birmingham, they’d be champions. But if they drew, Huddersfield could nick the title providing they beat a bang-average Nottingham Forest at home by three goals. Wadsworth pondered the situation, put down his pencil and cleared his throat: “We’re cutting it a bit fine.”

Town set about Forest in nervous fashion, this paper reporting that “they appeared to be throwing their chance away”. But then the Forest keeper Alf Bennett spilled George Brown’s shot and George Cook established a half-time lead. (Bennett, fans of nominative determinism will be delighted to know, was born in a Derbyshire village called Clowne.) Huddersfield were much improved in the second half, Cook making it 2-0 on 57 minutes. Only one more goal required!

But at that very moment, down in Birmingham, a goalbound Cardiff shot was handled on the line. Penalty! That man Davies stepped up to take the kick that would surely seal the title. Only problem was, despite being the club’s leading scorer, he’d never taken a penalty before in his life. He hit it too close to the Birmingham keeper Dan Tremelling. Ten minutes later, back up north, Ted Richardson went on an epic dribble and set up Brown for a third. When the whistle blew, Chapman ran to his office and waited for the phone to ring. And waited. The call came after an agonising few minutes. Cardiff could only draw 0-0! Huddersfield were champions after a day of heightened drama … by 0.024 of a goal. Oh Len! Huddersfield, Cardiff, two words, five syllables. It’s not even half a haiku. But what a story they tell.