The Kid we let slip though our hands*
Laid on a pair and we were damned
To end the game with ten fit men
When our keeper caught a red again.
At three down the fickle upped and left
Partly blaming our demise on ref
Who lets be fairs had better days
Sure but that’s what every loser says.
In the rows of cold and empty seats
Those who stayed rose to their feet
Sang and cheered the youngsters on
As we shared their hurt in what went wrong.
Three down, three down it’s been so long
I thought during a poignant song
As the passionate in the stands remained
Unlike the fickle, waiting on their trains.
When the fourth official called an extra four
I shouted out aloud “Oh No I Can’t Take Any More”
Which caused nearby seat-mates to laugh
While they looked at me as if I was daft.
“Will you be here when we play The Spurs”?
The fellow sat beside me purred
“Of course I will, and again next term”
In the hope (as all fans do) our luck will turn.
We trooped out having caught three on the chin
When all you can do is crack a joke and grin
Seems the really put out ones had already left
As the the third nestled gently in our net.
In the crowded streets the loyalists walked
Toward The Tube and talked the talk
Of those who’ve seen far darker days
and know now they’re all part of…The Game.
Over dinner with my kids, I thought
It’s been a strange old year, (plus we’ve lost three nought)
Though this losing games can be pretty tough
I’ve decided when that whistle goes…it’s time for other stuff.