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A no-score draw with Queen’s Park Rangers…
the future’s now filled with horrible dangers.
The penultimate weekend and still deep in the mire,
our season of torment going down to the wire.
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Tuesday night and nerves are already frayed,
tactics are debated, best plans are laid.
We’re all world-beaters here in the pub,
but can the boys do it on Sunday? Ah, there’s the rub!
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Sunday lunchtime, the walk to the ground-
from inside The Hawthorns comes a deafening sound.
The sun is shining, not a spare seat in sight.
Hope starts to flicker- who knows? We just might!
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First half, it’s all Albion- but we can’t find a goal
Nails start to shorten- this should be a stroll!
In seats all around us the transistors blare-
no goals at Ipswich. And Crewe? No goals there.
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Half time, still a stalemate! We’re no better off
than when we first started; you nervously cough.
My programme gets screwed up; my pie has gone cold,
I’m starting to feel so incredibly old!
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Four minutes in and we jump up and roar-
the news trickles through of a first I pswich score.
We’re staying up! Staying up! But don’t speak too soon-
there’s a lot that could happen to burst our balloon!
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Then Sneekes goes off on a sweet mazy run,
holds off one defender, then a second for fun.
His shot leaves his boots… seems to float in the air..
bulges the net, we jump up- it’s there!
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We dance with delight, clench our fists, scream and shout.
The pent up frustration floods joyfully out.
Filled with fresh hope, we start to recover,
when Super Bob steps up- and gets us another!
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Clement delivered an inch-perfect cross
and who should rise up from the midst of the dross?
Taylor, our hero, with four goals from five,
gets us the goal that will keep us alive.
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Crewe gets a couple, but it won’t make a difference,
‘Cos Carbon’s looking awesome in the centre of defence.
As the minutes keep on ticking, we ‘Boing Boing’ all the way;
relishing the moment, savouring the day.
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Finally, it’s over, the whistle has been blown-
Charlton look dejected, their players stand alone,
feeling sick as parrots, while we’re over the moon,
but, please lads, next season? No more ‘last chance saloon’!