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While Stewie gave his famous rant on telly,
While Bohs supporters trooped out of the ground,
I had a sinking feeling in my belly
Not shared, it seemed, by Reds’ fans all around.
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It felt more like an end than a beginning,
A brilliant dream from which I’d woken up.
I couldn’t share in all the glee at winning
As Owen hoisted high that silver cup.
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I stood there in the goalmouth where just lately
Glenn Crowe had notched that all important goal.
The impact of that moment touched me greatly –
Ironic how he’d played the starring role.
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And right about the spot where he had twisted
And sent us jumping high and praising God,
A divot sat, on end and strangely listed,
A sad and lonely, most pathetic sod.
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I found a tissue deep within my pocket
And wrapped it round that fractured lump of earth,
A souvenir perhaps of Glenn Crowe’s rocket
That engineered this merriment and mirth.
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I never knew the harm that I was doing,
The pristine pitch was now left rough and crude.
The row ‘twixt us and Rovers that was brewing
Was all down to my thieving attitude.
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And so, to Mr. Scully, Mr. Keely,
‘Twas me that caused your most unseemly ruck.
The awful state of Tolka’s surface really
Can be traced back to that divot that I took.