A Rinky Dinky Manager

I’m a rinky-dinky manager
And Eamonn gives out stink.
My heinous crime
(He says) that I’m
So full of rinky-dink.
I’ve searched the Oxford Diction’ry
And followed ev’ry link,
But cannot find
This term defined –
Oh, what is rinky-dink?

I’m a rinky-dinky manager,
Unlike, say, Gus Hiddinck
Who, people say,
Does not display
An ounce of rinky-dink.
The heap of scorn thrown at me
Would drive a nun to drink.
Please tell me why
He thinks that I
Am full of rinky-dink.

I’m a rinky-dinky manager
My vision’s on the blink.
All I can see
Surrounding me
Is miles of rinky-dink.
I’m teetering (says Eamonn)
Like a man who’s on the brink.
Perhaps I’ll fall,
Weighed down by all
This surplus rinky-dink.

I’m a rinky-dinky manager
Or so the pundits think.
But they’re all wrong,
I’ll stride along,
Devoid of rinky-dink.
My plans are clear as crystal,
I’m feeling in the pink.
I have no need
In thought or deed
For any rinky-dink.