From The Tantrums of An Idol..
¶ 1
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I often look at Ron, and think to myself…
During those tantrums on the pitch
You know…when he’s stamping his feet like an angry elf
In a histrionic fit.
¶ 2
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After shouting at the telly I then calm down again
Recalling the days of real (sic) idols when
“The Team” consisted of I do believe eleven?
and no-one had the sole belief he carried the other ten.
¶ 3
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I think about our school playing fields (sic)
Consisting of pink cinders in a dour South London park
Where a teams character was formed, instilled
Or the thought of maybe next time…we’ll get to play on grass?
¶ 4
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Then Ron’s histrionics start again
As a pass drifts by astray
Or that final chance to win the game
Without extra time, passed him by, as indeed it did today.
¶ 5
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I watched him during the shoot-out
Stood alone hiding behind the unified sanctity of the team
Where yet again he played the crowd
With… well there’s ten of them, and then there’s…me.
¶ 6
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I kinda felt for the Portuguese man of awe
Stand on me I did, after watching this last night
Have his tantrums, and the me, me, me, closed the door.
Leaving him out there on his Tod, like the kid what no-one liked?*
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