With just three fixtures now remaining,
This one is usually entertaining,
And Spurs are seeking a season’s double,
Whilst Boro are not yet out of trouble.
The weather’s blustery, under skies of grey,
As referee Mason gets things under way,
It’s soon most clear, in the great arena,
That the Spurs, by far, are much the ‘Keaner.’
Yak’s fine ball picked out Mark Viduka,
And we held our breath for a real bazooka,
But, to great surprise, he seemed to freeze,
And Robinson saved his shot with ease.
A Berbatov chance was quite presentable,
But the execution turned out, well, lamentable,
The Bulgarian stood in disbelief,
But the Boro fans gasped with great relief.
As Spurs attacked the Boro at random,
We saw Berbatov and Keane in tandem,
First quite amazing Bulgarian skill,
Then Keane was there to make the kill.
Malbranque’s great cross, so well controlled,
Then Woodgate’s left there to behold,
Consummate skill by Robbie Keano,
And the beginning of a Tottenham Beano.
As Spurs salute that perfect peach,
Boro minds seemed lost on some distant beach,
Were deck-chairs and sangria perhaps the reason?
Or was it ‘cos it’s almost end of season?
With Boro lads guilty of dereliction,
And totally lacking all conviction,
The Spurs were left to run amok,
It’s so hard to take for the faithful flock.
With half-time now so awfully close,
The Boro fans look on: so morose,
Then Viduka, trying more than most,
Was unfortunate just to strike the post.
The whistle’s greeted by resounding boos,
Then fans resume their lengthy snooze,
Outclassed: lack-lustre: total dross!
Harsh words are called for from the Boro boss.
Two further minutes was all it took,
Then the Riverside stadium once more shook,
Berbatov combined with Hossam Ghaly,
And Schwarzer’s left a proper Charlie.
To be fair to Schwarzer, I’m only joking,
That ball was hot and probably smoking,
From twenty yards, that right foot volley,
Left Boro fans more melancholy.
It’s Everest that we now must climb,
And we haven’t really got much time,
Then with Boro’s defenders all at sea,
Robbie Keane really should have made it three.
But Mark Viduka, he had not surrendered,
And greater effort he engendered,
Spurs might so well have come a cropper,
But for great heroics from their England stopper.
Twice it appeared the Duke must score,
But Robinson won each tug-of-war,
And then a third: for sure, goal-bound,
Which, once more, Robbo turned around.
The afternoon’s first ball of genuine class,
Picked out Viduka, as bold as brass,
Downing was the man supplying,
Duke’s storming header most satisfying.
We’ve ridden our luck so now we must,
Show much more effort and greater thrust,
Viduka thought he’d brought things square,
But Robinson proved beyond compare.
At last the fans had things to cheer,
Three times we’d come so very near,
We’ve finally risen from our slumbers,
Attacking Spurs, at last, in numbers.
Yakubu, once again’s been struggling,
So Boro do a bit of juggling,
Lee takes his place, to add some clout,
But Boro, soon, were down and out.
Lennon’s perfect pass was just sheer brilliance,
And instantly killed off Boro’s resilience,
For Robbie Keane it was made to measure,
And gave him his second goal to treasure.
Gareth Southgate looked on, so forlorn,
Knowing Boro’s chance was really ‘gorn,’
Pogatetz then scored, but to no avail,
So ended another sorry tale.
Though the final minutes were somewhat frantic,
The Boro’s woes were quite gigantic,
With performances getting ever-ropier,
We’re a million miles from that great Utopia.
Though I’m totally sure we’ll stay afloat,
Some north of here might even gloat,
For next week there’s another big ‘n,
Away to fellow strugglers, Wigan.