Joe Trapattoni’s waiting

Too long we’ve been sitting here on our own,
Waiting for a hero to pick up the phone. (ooh)

A match in Croke Park can become a bad dream,
People think we have a world-beating team.
Great expectations can lead to a fall
Playing’gainst Cyprus and drawing two all

Joe Trapattoni’s waiting, talking Italian (talking Italian)
Marco Tardelli’s waiting (talking Italian)
Joe Trapattoni’s waiting, talking Italian (talking Italian)
Marco Tardelli’s waiting (talking Italian)

With Joe we think we can go all the way
Odds on we’ll be bringing home Jules Rimet (ooh)

Nobody cares if the football is dull,
Winning our games will keep stadia full.
This is our only escape from it all
Seeing our name on that chart on the wall.

Joe Trapattoni’s waiting, talking Italian (talking Italian)
Marco Tardelli’s waiting (talking Italian)
Joe Trapattoni’s waiting, talking Italian (talking Italian)
Marco Tardelli’s waiting (talking Italian)

A match in Croke Park can become a bad dream,
Joe is the man who can raise our esteem.
And when the World Cup is heading our way
We’ll celebrate in the Tardelli way

Joe Trapattoni’s waiting, talking Italian (talking Italian)
Marco Tardelli’s waiting (talking Italian)
Joe Trapattoni’s waiting, talking Italian (talking Italian)
Marco Tardelli’s waiting (talking Italian)

Ireland 0 Brazil 1

Their goalie barely sees the ball,
The team’s so forward-driven,
But in their hist’ry few recall
A keeper like Shay Given.

Their centre backs can read the ball
And spot the midfield runner,
But few would have the wherewithal
Of someone like the Dunner.

They’ve players who can spread the ball
Like all great players can,
But frankly you may keep them all
For we have Kev Kilbane.

Their love of getting on the ball
Oft borders on the greedy,
But seldom do these players enthral
Like Miller or McGeady.

Their forwards pounce on each loose ball
With joie de vivre latino,
But how Brazil would love to call
On Kevin Doyle and Keano.

But where Brazil are on the ball
Is in their whole approach
That teams improve if you install
An international coach.

The language barrier

Some like which way the penny flips,
Some say it’s all baloney,
But the latest name on people’s lips
Is Signor Trapattoni.
While many rush for betting slips,
Some think the news is phoney.

Giovanni can’t converse, they say.
His English is too broken.
The Irish players are not au fait
With Italian, as it’s spoken.
Communication is the way
Our passions will be woken.

But don’t dismiss him out of hand,
Though fears might need allaying.
He’s one of just a tiny band
Who’s worth the cash we’re paying,
And very few could understand
What Jack or Stan were saying.

It isn’t right to make a fuss
Of lack of English, is it?
Don’t board the xenophobic bus –
Invite him for a visit,
For English might well be a plus
But it’s hardly a requisite.

Anyone want to be manager?

The World Cup dates have now been set.
No manager installed as yet,
But sure, there’s lots of time before it starts.
Rushing today, tomorrow ruing,
Delaney knows what he is doing –
Photos on the wall and throwing darts.

The speculation’s been intense
Since Stan was toppled off the fence,
The press promotes a new one every day.
Is it so hard to find a man
To step into the boots of Stan
Or does Delaney frighten folk away?

We need to choose a manager,
A world-class, A1 manager,
To lead us all to Canaan and beyond,
But everyone we think we like
Says “hey, no way,” into the mike –
There aren’t too many fish left in the pond.

The gang of three has roamed the world
But no new name has been unfurled,
Despite the headline talk since Stan’s removal,
But what if the new appointee,
Whoever he, or she, may be
Just doesn’t meet with Eamon D’s approval?

If John had any brains at all
He’d find a coach who’s on the ball,
But more important, meets with Eamon’s blessing,
And then he might well get the time
To dig us out the muck and grime
And fix the basic faults that need addressing.

The World Cup Draw 2010

They say its okay,
It’s a handy oul’ group,
And qualification’s a cinch.
But I reckon we may
Well end up in the soup –
Perhaps finish fourth at a pinch.

Montenegro – who they?
And Georgia too?
Dark horses we know nowt about.
And Bulgaria, eh?
We could very well rue
Dismissing their sizable clout.

And then the Azurri,
Just the World Cup winners,
We don’t stand a prayer against them.
They’ll pound us with fury,
Dismissively bin us,
As befits the new crème de la crème.

But worse, far, far worse,
Worse than any of this,
We’re in for more gut-wrenching pain.
It must be a curse,
An overt Judas kiss,
For we have to face Cyprus again.

Ireland vs Someone, possibly Wales

Columns and columns of newspaper print,
At which the supporters just fleetingly squint.
The players take their turn to deliver their views,
But nobody cares if we win or we lose.
The media hype’s really failing to catch
For we’re so underwhelmed by this forthcoming match.
Nothing to play for, except maybe pride –
The ludicrous cliché is once more applied.

He wishes for a new Ireland shirt

Had I the brand new Ireland shirt,
A masterpiece of emerald green,
Embossed with logo extrovert
And “Eircom” writ in font eighteen,
I would wear it to all home games.
But I being poor have just the top
From World Cup 1994,
Which my wife uses for a mop.
Mop lightly, for you mop with my shirt.