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Kinda sticks in the craw don’t it,
This player power?
A promising young coach clearly out of his depth
Being hung out to dry by a bunch of ageing pro’s
And no nothing buys
Unable to or simply refusing to adapt to a new system.
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There were times when we all saw
What was happening out on the pitch?
Plywood defending from wiry haired comedians
Alice band ballerinas
Wisp like in their total ineptitude to the cause.
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Came on the telly he did, bravely smiled
Always praising The Group ethic
Even when they in parts never showed up for him
Sat in the sanctity of the dressing room
Leaving him to take the brunt of it, full in the face
From the encircling sharks of the media, after his blood.
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Yet where were The Group when he needed them?
Running in to the eighteen yard box
Of the last chance saloon up at The Hawthorns
On Saturday afternoon
With a slim chance of saving the coach’s neck and job
And only the keeper to beat?
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These refuseniks have taken over our asylum
Yeah it kinda sticks in the craw.
This player power
An you know what?
I’m not sure I like this or where it’s going?