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When they were bottom of
the Premiership pile with
Steve Keane at the helm
you could understand why
they were giving the players
grief every week for getting beat.
Even so you’d have to be
made of stern stuff to
want the ball to feet,
to ignore the flood of boos
cascading down from the stands.
At the start of life in the
second tier Steve stayed,
though the ‘loyal’ fans didn’t,
deserting the club in their droves,
then driving the manager out
even though they were near the top.
Now the ice man cometh,
ice-Berg from Norwegian shores.
Eyes like flint, flood lights glint
off his bald pate.
Henning hardly setting the world alight:
mediocre start to his first few games,
but at least he has forgiving fans
to ease him in gently.
The ice man’s cup hardly runneth over
as his team is beaten by a
slick Cardiff City on the box.
As the boos boom out of Ewood again
ice man Henning’s grip on the
poison chalice is already slipping.
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