Thursday, October 25, 2007

Confessions of a Lily Liver

McAteer scored,
And, all alone at home, I roared,
As the ten men went ahead against the Dutch.
Every game I fear the worst,
Expect the bubble soon to burst,
And, for me, this was a little bit too much.

Now, my heavy, rhythmic heart
Had been a-pounding from the start,
But now, with that great goal, it started racing.
Though we had a goal in hand,
There was no way I could stand
The half an hour or so that we were facing.

So I nimbly set the tape,
And made a cowardly escape
Out onto the bare, deserted street.
And I paced the road alone,
With knuckles chewed down to the bone,
And not a single person did I meet.

Round and round the block I walked,
As each second was uncorked,
And I calculated minutes left to play.
And when full time had been reached,
From nearby houses people screeched,
And then I knew the match had gone our way.

My wife and son and daughter
Claim I’m not a true supporter,
And I’m the one they always throw the book at.
It’s a little bit simplistic
Just to state I’m pessimistic,
But there’s certain games I just can’t bear to look at.

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