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Wednesday, 29 February 2012

Onward, Christian Soldiers

Onward, Christian soldiers, marching as to war,
With the badge of lions, going on before.
Parker, the royal Captain, leads against the foe;
Forward into battle see His lions go!

At the sign of triumph France and Spain both flee;
On then, England's soldiers, on to victory!
Ukraine's foundations quiver at the shout of praise;
Lads lift up your voices, loud the anthem raise.

Like a mighty army moves the England fans;
Brothers, we are treading where our fathers trod.
We are not divided, all one body we,
One in hope and boozing, one in laddity.

What The Sun established that I hold for true.
What The Sun believèd, that I believe too.
Long as bladder endureth, men the faith will hold,
Cafés, plazas and boozers, in destruction rolled.

Golden generations perish, players rise and wane,
But the pressure constant will remain.
Apathy or boredom can never gainst England prevail;
We have the FA's own promise, and that cannot fail.

Onward then, ye geezers, join our bulging throng,
Shout with ours your voices in the triumph song.
"There were ten German bombers in the air"
This through countless ages men and children sing.

Tuesday, 28 February 2012

Alan Shearer, King of the Rodeo

His boots are made of leather
And now he's earned his spurs,
A shirt of finespun cotton
And Levis 501s.
A bolo tie of splendour
He don't wear no cravat,
Grabs his cream fringed jacket
To match his stetson hat.
Out on the plains
That's where he struts his stuff,
Roping in a steer,
No one quite so tough.
All through the West
His famous name is heard
England's great sharpshooter
The goalscoring wizard.
It's Alan Shearer
King of the rodeo,
Oh Alan Shearer
King of the Rodeo.

Monday, 27 February 2012

Elegy to Mick McCarthy

Sleep with dried up tears
With memories of misfortune,
Loanee unreleability.
Sleep with dried up eyes
Remembering better times,
The irreplaceable.

How to Solve a Problem, Andy

In those halcyon days of black and white
The terror of heading the ball too much!
No defender risked their life
In challenging Andy Carrol's might.
But now his hair much sleeker
As evidenced upon leaving the field
The locks are free to bounce
And shine and shimmer,
To glint the floodlit tears of fans.
Now Carrol and Samson
Are far apart, it's nothing to do with length,
But I've a sneeking suspicion that something's changed,
That Andy's been using shampoo.
Before he towered, tried, and thundered,
No one got too close,
His lank mane caused a shudder
But now it's too often perfumed.
That ancient stench of sweat and tabs
A fortnight in the pub,
His showers were amber
Boots covered in piss
And hair conditioned by Lambert and Butler.
Now he tries to no avail
His follicular folly such a shame,
Tramps around from ground to ground
The Euros a fading light,
His one last chance! He sees at last!
Pre-season! Everything can change!
The John Parkin routine, intensive
Repulsive, perfect!
To spend the summer whistfully
A can in hand a fag in the other
Sitting on the dock of the bay.

Brian McDermott

With a steady hand
And learned eye
His team now pushing
For the sky.

Brian McDermott
Bald and brave
Leads the Royals
Stoic and grave.

Their yearly pursuit
An upward surge
Last year slinked home
As Swans emerged.

Those blasted playoffs
Cursed and grim
But automatic chances
Are growing slim.

"Now's the time
To stand up tall
Down the league
We cannot fall."

"Stand up each one
From Hunt to Harte
And listen here
We'll not fall apart."

One last cry
"Do it for the fan!"
The final urge
"I am the eggman!"

Saturday, 11 February 2012