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Ode to Sven

John Lewis

Thursday, June 13th, 2002

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 He is couth, he is urbane
Remaining hair is coiffured mane
At times of crisis he stays sane
Displaying neither rage nor pain

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Nor fish, nor chip shall pass his lip
No foul word will he let slip
He sails serene on Viking ship
On his best mate he keeps Tord Grip

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 He dines on herring lightly rolled
He runs round naked in the cold
His Ralph Weil watch is solid gold
His bird his young but he is old

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 To the anthem he doth mime
We’ve watched him do it every time
But we forgive him this small crime
In favour of his teams sublime

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 He’s probably veggie, even vegan
His politics are unlike Reagan
He’ll carry on what Ramsey begun
We wouldn’t swap him back for Keegan

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 Prefers chilled Chablis to warm beer
Buys beech wood tables from Ikea
Good friend of former Rear of Year
Tactically he has no peer

7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 He reads Kundera in the Czech
Wears Dior ties around his neck
He is not feckless, he is feck
Is he English? . . . Is he heck

8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 Who is he then, most cultured of men
He is Sven, he is Sven
He is no moron
He is Goran
Come on my son, come on my son, come on my son
Come on . . . . . . . Sven-Goran Eriksson

© John Lewis 13th June 2002

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/ode-to-sven/