Football Poets

Oh! What A Night!

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 It woz beautiful stuff, were you cheering the home team.
Intricate, fluid and slick
To us packed in the pub, who fancied we beat ‘em’
“Are they skillful? Nah too many tricks”

¶ 2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 When their first one went in, we were silenced
Exiled Catalans screamed in delight
In the midst of the din, we sat wryly smiling
It was gonna be a blimmin long night.

¶ 3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 I’m doing me maths, two one against does us
An away goal would still see us through
Till our captain, silly ass, kneedlessly chucks
A dead leg a la Beckham used to.

¶ 4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 “Ain’t no good protesting John” Petr Cech whispered
To our adamant ”I ain’t done a thing”
Would the ten men hold on, could we show our persistence?
We nervously swigged on our drinks.

¶ 5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 With their second, our show seemingly over
Heads home and abroad dipped low down
Til a Ray Mears lob puts us right back in clover
Making toilet desperados turn round.

¶ 6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 Half time felt fraught to be honest, hanging in there
Still fighting like mad
Couldn’t hear Hoddle’s comments, or those of Souness
Or M & S Jaime’s (I’m glad).

¶ 7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 The restart, brings with it more of the same
Beautiful control and deft flicks
But our ten men were wise to the Arsenal type game
In that style Guardiola persists with.

¶ 8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 Then disaster, our Ivorian makeshift left back
Gives a right iffy penalty away
We “oh no” at each other, then back up at the match
Sometimes it just ain’t your day.

¶ 9 Leave a comment on verse 9 0 Fearing the worst, we watch then look away
As the referee calls time on our futile protest
Then a realist in the pub, matter of factly says:
“He’s still gotta put the ball in the net yet”

¶ 10 Leave a comment on verse 10 0 When it came off the crossbar, our inner souls sang
We climbed up on the tables and screamed
Would it happen, could we even contemplate making plans
For a final in The Champions League?

¶ 11 Leave a comment on verse 11 0 An offside disallowed, one back off the upright
Our makeshift left back turns it in
On comes Fernando for whom the word striker
Means he spends a lot of time doing sit ins.

¶ 12 Leave a comment on verse 12 0 Then lo and behold, one’s lumped out of defence
To their neigh empty half of the pitch
Rounding their keeper Torres scores, they’re incensed
Whilst we’re up on the tables in fits.

¶ 13 Leave a comment on verse 13 0 Meanwhile up in the press box, Gary Neville goes mental
Screaming his head off in ecstasy
Word is Gary ain’t a red, but a Shed-Head, who was right instrumental
In leading a rousing rendition of Celery!

¶ 14 Leave a comment on verse 14 0 Our dream very much alive, we’re off on a pilgrimage
Toward the final, with our much maligned team
Who cares who we’ll play, Bayern Munich or Real Madrid
Feel free to write us off, ridicule and slate us. That’s your problem
But…… We’ll Still Believe!

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