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David Beckham, superstar, was training in Madrid,
With thousands of admirers watching everything he did.
He did some keepy-uppies on his shoulders, head and knees,
And then, to end the session off, he practised taking frees.
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He placed the ball outside the box and ran and struck it sweetly,
But, much to everyone’s surprise, it missed the goal completely.
Rebounding fiercely off the post with diabolical grace,
It struck the Bishop of Madrid quite squarely in the face.
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With great concern, our hero ran towards the massed confusion
But the Bishop smiled through bloodied teeth and gave him absolution.
So David went back to his spot and once more placed the ball,
Seeking to evade the quite imaginary wall.
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Another shot! The other post! Another ricochet!
And Becksy now suspected that it wouldn’t be his day.
A local judge was standing there, among the serried rows,
The football caught him cheerfully, and broke the poor chap’s nose.
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David sprinted quickly o’er to where the old man stood,
Proffering his handkerchief to mop away the blood.
Magnanimously, the magistrate refused to make an issue
Of the little incident, and then produced a tissue.
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For the third time, Becksy placed the ball outside the D,
The crowd all eyed him with mistrust, and shuffled nervously.
This time he used his outstep, quite convinced that this ploy should work,
But he stood there, astounded, as once more it hit the woodwork.
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Again the ball deflected, and to no-one there’s surprise,
It struck the Mayor of Setubal right smack between the eyes.
And David threw his head right back, and cursed both loud and long,
Till Ronaldo came on over to discover what was wrong.
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David crouched down, head in hands, and told the sorry story,
How bishop, judge and dignitary had ended up so gory.
Ronaldo tapped him on the head, and then he looked away,
“You keep on striking the upright, Dave,” was all that he could say.