The meaning of the lyrics of the song "Professionals" (Professionalyi) the performer of the song "Vladimir Vysotsky"

Professionals -

Salaries galore, -

They don't care if they're spitting teeth on the ice.

They're paid big bucks -

Huge thousands, -

Even for a loss, even for a draw.

The player is cunning - let

Him take it on the body,

Kick in the teeth and - doesn't give a damn, -

And in the end he

Cripples his legs -

And instead of a stick, he walks with a cane.

For professionals,

Desperate guys,

The game is a lottery - it's all about luck.

They play with a partner -

Like a bull with a matador, -

Although, it seems, it's the other way around.

As if dead

Your partner is lying.

And fine, to hell with him - let him lie.

Don't screw up, bull -

God wants goals,

God is in the stands - he will not forgive!

For professionals, the referee

Doesn't consider boxing or a vicious brawl a crime, -

And for twenty years

Who could compete with them -

It's like a schoolboy fighting a hardened gang?!

But recently

Their main trump card -

Is no longer a trump card, but just a trifle, -

And with their weapon

They are now beaten no worse

Moreover, at speeds.

Professionals

In their Montreal

Let them break each other's noses, -

But their representative

(Go ahead and ask!)

Was recently taped up in two stripes.

First flattened,

And then - a band-aid...

And their pastor - what bad luck! -

He knew before the fight

That they were weak, -

They prayed in formation - it didn't help.

Professionals

Through different channels -

A lot, then a little - to the bank account, -

And our guys

For the same salary

Are already five times ahead!

Let them weave intrigues

In the highest league

And let hockey be called Canadian -

We have the last word, -

See you again!

And the soccer players - until better days...

Профессионалам -

зарплата навалом, -

Плевать, что на лед они зубы плюют.

Им платят деньжищи -

огромные тыщи, -

И даже за проигрыш, и за ничью.

Игрок хитер - пусть

берет на корпус,

Бьет в зуб ногой и - ни в зуб ногой, -

А сам в итоге

калечит ноги -

И вместо клюшки идет с клюкой.

Профессионалам,

отчаянным малым,

Игра - лотерея, - кому повезет.

Играют с партнером -

как бык с матадором, -

Хоть, кажется, принято - наоборот.

Как будто мертвый

лежит партнер твой.

И ладно, черт с ним - пускай лежит.

Не оплошай, бык, -

бог хочет шайбы,

Бог на трибуне - он не простит!

Профессионалам

судья криминалом

Ни бокс не считает, ни злой мордобой, -

И с ними лет двадцать

кто мог потягаться -

Как школьнику драться с отборной шпаной?!

Но вот недавно

их козырь главный -

Уже не козырь, а так, - пустяк, -

И их оружьем

теперь не хуже

Их бьют, к тому же - на скоростях.

Профессионалы

в своем Монреале

Пускай разбивают друг другу носы, -

Но их представитель

(хотите - спросите!)

Недавно заклеен был в две полосы.

Сперва распластан,

а после - пластырь...

А ихний пастор - ну как назло! -

Он перед боем

знал, что слабо им, -

Молились строем - не помогло.

Профессионалам

по разным каналам -

То много, то мало - на банковский счет, -

А наши ребята

за ту же зарплату

Уже пятикратно уходят вперед!

Пусть в высшей лиге

плетут интриги

И пусть канадским зовут хоккей -

За нами слово, -

до встречи снова!

А футболисты - до лучших дней...

Vladimir Vysotsky's poem "Professionals" is filled with criticism and sarcasm directed at professional hockey players, particularly Canadians, who were considered unbeatable at the time. The author contrasts them with Soviet amateur athletes.

Vysotsky ironically describes the "professionalism" of the Canadians: they are paid huge sums of money regardless of the result, their game is rough and injury-prone, and the referees turn a blind eye to violations. He uses metaphors: he compares the game to a lottery, teammates to a bull and a matador, and defeat to death.

The author emphasizes that despite their former glory, Canadians no longer seem invincible. Their "main trump card" has lost its power, and now they are being beaten "at speeds." Vysotsky mockingly describes the defeat of a Canadian hockey player who was "patched up in two stripes," and the pastor's unsuccessful attempt to pray for victory.

In contrast to the "professionals," Vysotsky places Soviet hockey players, who, according to him, play "for the same salary" but achieve greater success. He believes in the victory of the Soviet team and ends the poem with the words: "The last word is ours - see you again!".