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His name is Colin Hawkins and we rescued him from Bohs.
We sneaked in when their management were lying comatose.
We felt a little guilty as they lay in sweet repose,
But they shouldn’t leave their assets unprotected.
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His reputation, to be fair, was not as big as Crowe’s,
And many wondered why we’d gone and snatched him from our foes,
But Nutsy’s always wide awake while other people doze,
And that is why he’s very well respected.
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We thought that he would serve to keep the back four on their toes,
To step into the breach if an emergency arose.
We wondered if he’d get into the team that Fenlon chose,
But things don’t often work out as expected.
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But since he’s come to Shelbourne, sure, his stature grows and grows,
His class is there for all to see, the stream of tributes flows.
His deeds have gained great coverage in poetry and prose,
And shown the flair that we had not suspected.
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He’s confident and powerful – in every game it shows –
Puts his foot upon the ball from free-kicks or from throws,
And surely his performances augment the Gypsy’s woes,
While everyone in Tolka is elected.
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His goal-line save ‘gainst Waterford was brilliant, I suppose.
He dashed back in the nick of time while everybody froze,
A leader by example, while some others merely pose,
And the certain goal was magically deflected.
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Both physically and mentally, he often does impose
His presence on a football match, encouraging all those
Whose form appears to waver from the high spots to the lows,
But Colin’s always calm, cool and collected.
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God help the centre-forward who will try hard to expose
His lack of pace by darting runs and hoped-for hammer blows,
For if the game is hotting up, then Col makes sure it slows,
For his hawk-like concentration’s not affected.
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Like the kid who had his Ready Brek, our Colm truly glows.
Where other angels fear to tread, our Colin boldly goes,
And Mister Fenlon’s reaping now, as surely as he sows,
More favourably than even he projected.