Fernando Hierro had but one small wish,
A little reward for his labours.
He yearned for his very own satellite dish,
Despite the strong views of his neighbours.
But there was a bye-law that people respected,
And which he’d been warned not to flout –
No problem with aerials being erected,
But satellite dishes were out.
Fernando, however, was keen on his sport,
And community-wise, kept aloof,
And so he dismissed what his neighbours all thought,
And fixed up a dish to his roof.
Niall Quinn, as it happened, was honorary chairman,
Of the local residential committee,
And he called on Hierro and said, “It’s not fair, man,
Yon satellite dish isn’t pretty.”
Hierro’s response was dismissive and fleeting,
And he sent the tall striker a-packing.
So Niall, enraged, called an emergency meeting,
To look for the residents’ backing.
Well, they gave him their blessing to do what he could
To get the tough Spaniard’s compliance.
Provided ‘twas legal, they well understood
The need to face down his defiance.
Now, Niall had some chickens [an old boyhood dream],
For he fancied himself as a farmer,
And cunningly now he did work out a scheme
Where they became part of his armour.
Hierro’s back garden adjoined that of Niall,
And the floral display was impressive,
Orchids and dahlias and sweet camomile,
So much it was almost excessive.
So Niall hung on till the Spaniard went out,
And then he ran down to his coop,
And he summonsed his chickens with one cheery shout,
And they gathered around in a group.
He quickly dispensed several urgent instructions,
And thanked them for co-operating.
He knew that their actions might cause nasty ructions,
And possibly trouble lay waiting.
And when he had finished, he lifted them gently,
And placed them all over the fence,
Ran up to his bedroom and peered out intently,
His face ever-watchful and tense.
The chickens, though, followed their master’s request,
And made for the colourful beds,
And, clucking away with encouraging zest,
They pecked all the flowers to shreds.
Well, Fernando returned in the late afternoon,
And his blood pressure instantly doubled.
All over his garden, bright flowers were strewn,
While chickens walked o’er them untroubled.
He let forth a yell, and he ran back outside,
And he banged on the Mighty Quinn’s door.
As Niall came down, he, with innocence, cried,
“What on earth is that hammering for?”
As he threw the door open, Hierro let loose,
And Quinn’s bright expression did vanish.
In turn, he enquired, why the florid abuse?
He’d never been taught rustic Spanish.
Hierro then dragged him around to the back,
Where Quinner feigned innocent wonder.
The Spaniard was bulling, his temper was black
And he wore an expression like thunder.
Niall announced that he wasn’t surprised
At the chickens’ despicable actions.
Perhaps poor Hierro had not realised
They hated these novel distractions.
These chickens he tended, though docile and few,
Could suddenly turn pretty vicious,
The reason for which, as all poultry men knew,
Was the presence of satellite dishes.
Perhaps ‘twas the colour, perhaps ‘twas the shape,
That caused certain fowl aggravation,
But the salient fact that he couldn’t escape,
Was - they flipped o’er a dish installation.
Well, Hierro looked sideways at Quinn for a while,
Sceptically mulling and thinking,
And then his bronzed face creased into a great smile,
And one of his eyes started winking.
“You’re very inventive, you know, Senor Quinn.
I admire the way you’ve contested.
You played most unfairly, but I’ll let you win,
I’ll take down the dish as requested.
I’ll purchase an aerial, throw in the towel,
And thank God you don’t own any cattle!”
And thus, though Hierro quite loudly cried, “Fowl!”
‘Twas Quinn won the aerial battle.
A little reward for his labours.
He yearned for his very own satellite dish,
Despite the strong views of his neighbours.
But there was a bye-law that people respected,
And which he’d been warned not to flout –
No problem with aerials being erected,
But satellite dishes were out.
Fernando, however, was keen on his sport,
And community-wise, kept aloof,
And so he dismissed what his neighbours all thought,
And fixed up a dish to his roof.
Niall Quinn, as it happened, was honorary chairman,
Of the local residential committee,
And he called on Hierro and said, “It’s not fair, man,
Yon satellite dish isn’t pretty.”
Hierro’s response was dismissive and fleeting,
And he sent the tall striker a-packing.
So Niall, enraged, called an emergency meeting,
To look for the residents’ backing.
Well, they gave him their blessing to do what he could
To get the tough Spaniard’s compliance.
Provided ‘twas legal, they well understood
The need to face down his defiance.
Now, Niall had some chickens [an old boyhood dream],
For he fancied himself as a farmer,
And cunningly now he did work out a scheme
Where they became part of his armour.
Hierro’s back garden adjoined that of Niall,
And the floral display was impressive,
Orchids and dahlias and sweet camomile,
So much it was almost excessive.
So Niall hung on till the Spaniard went out,
And then he ran down to his coop,
And he summonsed his chickens with one cheery shout,
And they gathered around in a group.
He quickly dispensed several urgent instructions,
And thanked them for co-operating.
He knew that their actions might cause nasty ructions,
And possibly trouble lay waiting.
And when he had finished, he lifted them gently,
And placed them all over the fence,
Ran up to his bedroom and peered out intently,
His face ever-watchful and tense.
The chickens, though, followed their master’s request,
And made for the colourful beds,
And, clucking away with encouraging zest,
They pecked all the flowers to shreds.
Well, Fernando returned in the late afternoon,
And his blood pressure instantly doubled.
All over his garden, bright flowers were strewn,
While chickens walked o’er them untroubled.
He let forth a yell, and he ran back outside,
And he banged on the Mighty Quinn’s door.
As Niall came down, he, with innocence, cried,
“What on earth is that hammering for?”
As he threw the door open, Hierro let loose,
And Quinn’s bright expression did vanish.
In turn, he enquired, why the florid abuse?
He’d never been taught rustic Spanish.
Hierro then dragged him around to the back,
Where Quinner feigned innocent wonder.
The Spaniard was bulling, his temper was black
And he wore an expression like thunder.
Niall announced that he wasn’t surprised
At the chickens’ despicable actions.
Perhaps poor Hierro had not realised
They hated these novel distractions.
These chickens he tended, though docile and few,
Could suddenly turn pretty vicious,
The reason for which, as all poultry men knew,
Was the presence of satellite dishes.
Perhaps ‘twas the colour, perhaps ‘twas the shape,
That caused certain fowl aggravation,
But the salient fact that he couldn’t escape,
Was - they flipped o’er a dish installation.
Well, Hierro looked sideways at Quinn for a while,
Sceptically mulling and thinking,
And then his bronzed face creased into a great smile,
And one of his eyes started winking.
“You’re very inventive, you know, Senor Quinn.
I admire the way you’ve contested.
You played most unfairly, but I’ll let you win,
I’ll take down the dish as requested.
I’ll purchase an aerial, throw in the towel,
And thank God you don’t own any cattle!”
And thus, though Hierro quite loudly cried, “Fowl!”
‘Twas Quinn won the aerial battle.
