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In a pub down by The Thames
Awash with “Lets pretend we’re French”
I prayed silently within and watched our plight
There were five or six of us for The Green
Apprehensively watching TV screens
Midst a horde of English rugger playing types.
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When that French try won the game
Pseudo Gaul’s went quite insane
As I looked toward the heavens and the door
With a wry smile as you do
I thought: T.Henry, tis dejà vu,
Robbed in France, have we been here before?
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Then a glimpse of what might be
From a cocksure referee
Offered us a whiff of the slightest hope
I looked both at faces and TV
With a cool and calm un-certainty
As ‘Exit’ shined, enticing me to go.
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When the touch judge signalled: “Non”
And The Six Nations was won
Ireland laid to rest – its ghost agin The Gaul’s
While on County Kilburn streets, wax effigies of T.Henry
Red-hot pins through hands and feet
Were cast aside like ignored calls of: “That’s handball!”
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On a towpath toasting victory
With fare from a local fish n chippery
I thought the future boded well for the Irish dream
Said rugby squad having done the biz
Now if the football team could win five or six?
We’d be up there once again agin the cream.
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O’Neill and Mayfield’s Keane
Appointed to restore the dream
Of getting Ireland back into World Cups
Have swiftly exorcised T.Henry
From mind-set of their fledgling team
Showing re-runs of the rugby teams triumph.
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This’ll be a sorry sad World Cup
Without the Irish showing up
With their fervour, rabid passion and the craic
Jeez them grounds in downtown Rio
Look in need of a crew from County Mayo
To get their stadia right – before the opening match.
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The Taoiseach seems irate
At the economic short-fall in the wake
Of failure to be seen in this World Cup
While Eamon Dunphy on last showing
Blamed: ”That flaming eejit Trappatoni
Who couldn’t pick a team to beat a rug”!
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The Angelis is ringing
The quare one won’t stop grinning
As she knows I’m spending summer here at home
Without fear of contradiction
Fans are chopping Sky subscriptions
Tis like having skis when there’s no sign of snow.
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On Cork’s illustrious Mardyke
Depression sets in hard like
When kids are playing football in green shirts
Tough Cork women say ”What tripe ”
Till the poignant words of Michael Stipe
Remind us fans that…”Sometimes Everybody Hurts”.
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Up above in Montenotte
This I know may sound quite snotty:
“Missing one World Cup, it could be worse?”
Whilst below there in Cork City
Where cheerless die-hard greens seek pity
The Samaritans claim they’re somewhat overworked.
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Should you choose to race off under sail?
For the summer in Kinsale
The breeze will blow the cobwebs from your mind
“Blow the cobwebs from me mind
What a stupid flaming line
The World Cup’s on whilst we’ve been cast aside”.
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Or the coastline of Tralee
I’m quite sure you’d agree
Is stunning in it’s beauty all the same?
“Tralee gives awful dreams to me
Where I’m stuck there beneath the sea
Instead of indoors watching Ireland play their games”.
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I’m told that in Fermoy
That there’s plenty to enjoy
If you’re in to climbing hills as nothings flat
“I’m not into climbing hills
As I’ve no mountaineering skills
Though I’d Mount Everest to see us win a World Cup match”.
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Or you could spend a day in Youghal and forget football
After all it’s just another flaming match
“Just another flaming match – to the likes of you perhaps
The footballs not about life or death
Or even drawing one’s last breath
The footballs much more serious than that!”
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Ryanair is somewhat poorer
As no South American Diaspora
Means its planes ain’t taking partisans from Ireland
Whilst gutted fans who’ll miss the cheering,
Are waxing lyrical lines Brazilian,
Prior to a football month at an Irish Bar in Thailand.
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Seems O’Leary in his wisdom
Has jettisoned plans for flights Brazilian
As Irish fans look to the future and their dreams:
“Sure our fledgling team is on the up
So we’ll take a hit on this World Cup
Whilst we’ve exorcised the cheating hand of T.Henry”