I’d watched us win for real
From cold comfort of me seat
We played with new found zest and zeal
As Man City were well beat.
Got back indoors
For the Sky re-run
Lapped it up with glee
In the interval, I nipped
Out to put the kettle on
And brewed the halt time tea.
Euphoric best describes the feeling
When I caught the second half
Though I knew just what the score would be
I still shouted out in anger “How’d he miss that chance”.
Ten was on our radar
If the pens had been awarded
Some blokes are never satisfied
We’re fickle fans, supporters.
Supper sat upon me lap
I channel hopped for fun
T.v Saturday night is crap
Till three stooges saunter on.
I turned the volume down on box
Till our game came on the screen
Me blissfull re-run of fun interuppted
When the dog and bone did ring.
Me mate was on the other end
A little worse for wear
“Kev, it’s Martin I’m waiting for MoTD to start
I still can’t take it in, we won six-nil
And I was blimmin there!”