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The Lady Likes Shallots

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Oh the wingback dribbled quickly,
Up the right wing he was nifty,
Although approaching 50,
And he crossed the ball so swiftly,
To the man who missed the shot.
The day was dark and murky,
The away team it was dirty,
They often got all shirty,
And the dirtiest was Bertie,
That’s the man who missed the shot.
They made their way to Cornwall,
For this game of football,
But you couldn’t hear their footfall,
Or Bertie’s elfin catcall,
As they came to Camelot.
Camelot ‘gainst the elfins,
Ought be a home win,
With some elfins in the sin bin,
After all their foulin’,
At home ‘gainst Camelot.
The first leg it was nil nil,
Still all then to play for,
But away goals will count double,
When might cause Camelot trouble,
Despite the man who missed the shot.
But Camelot all in armour,
You’d think they’d progress farther,
On horseback galloping harder,
Than elfins with no guarder
To save a Camelot shot.
Elfins with no goalie,
And all 1 metre solely
In height and all so oldy
‘Gainst knights who fight so boldly,
And away gainst Camelot!
The referee was Bedivere
Who used to fancy Guinevere,
Before he flung Excalibur,
To the sombre bird beneath the mere,
Near the pitch at Camelot.
He tried to favour Camelot,
And give them free kicks quite a lot,
Which made the elfins angry hot,
Their breath all smelt of old Shallots,
On the pitch at Camelot.
The horses they did prance a lot,
Until their horse shoes all fell off,
And centre forward Lancelot,
He was off side quite a lot,
At home for Camelot.
And the knights in armour tired out,
And Bertie’s team began to shout,
They knew they could avoid a rout
And even knock team Camelot out,
E’en the man who missed the shot!
The horses got all knackered tired,
And some brave knights they then expired,
But 3 foot elfins were all wired,
Lots of shots they all then fired
At the goal of Camelot.
But the game it went to penalties,
As ordered by the referee,
Both teams scored 1, 2 and then 3,
But the next two missed unhappily,
Which left the man who missed the shot!
But Bertie now was wiser,
He aimed at the goalie’s visor,
And cried out “ Now by Gad sir”
And kicked the ball into the air
And in the goal of Camelot!
A hankie then it did appear,
Waving from a window near,
And Bertie drank some Elfin beer,
And climbed the tower without fear,
T’was the lady of Shallot!
So the moral of my story –
If you make a mistake early,
Keep your head up, don’t get surly,
Rise above the hurly-burly,
And I’m sure you’ll score
With the one they call
The Lady of Shallot.

5

Notes

I wrote this whilst in Corsica, on tour with The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood F.C. Alas! The Lady is, of course, an illusion – the Holy Grail of success in the cup.

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/the-lady-likes-shallots/