Shelbourne were playing up in Derry,
The big football match of the night,
A game that would surely be very
Competitive and very tight.
I didn’t think that I could make it
[I casually remarked to the barman]
In fact I would have to forsake it,
For I was in Puerto del Carmen.
I’d sunburn all over my belly,
Yet I had the incredible thought,
In the flat we had satellite telly,
Perhaps it was on Eurosport.
My hopes, though, were cruelly thwarted,
They only showed synchronised yachting,
And a bloody great horse that cavorted
When it was supposed to be trotting.
So I turned off the TV set – feck ‘em!
And tuned in the medium wave,
But the future of one David Beckham
Was all of the Sports News they gave.
And therefore I tried to phone Gerry
To see could he tell me our fate,
But I’d forgotten that he was in Derry,
And wouldn’t be home until late.
So I went to the Internet station,
Where I could go surfing the net,
But I couldn’t work out the translation,
And finished five euro in debt.
There wasn’t another way round it –
I’d wait till the next day to find
The score in the Indo. Confound it!
The paper was one day behind.
On Saturday morning I trotted
On down to the shop with a grin,
But my grin dropped away as I spotted
The Indos had not yet come in.
All through the day I kept checking
To see if the Indos had come.
But after much shiting and fecking,
It just was a pain in the bum.
And so for a week I was praying
That Shelbourne had somehow been jammy,
But back now from my holidaying,
I’m hit by a big double whammy.