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When Hercules had done his tasks, he went back to the king,
Who said, “Well done there, sonny, now there’s just another thing.
I’ve found another striker, who might just end our goal drought,
And I want you to go in goal and really test him out.”
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Now Hercules was none too pleased and said, “By sweet Apollo!
This thirteenth labour really is a bitter pill to swallow.
I’ve faced such mortal dangers as would petrify your soul.
And now you turn around and say I have to go in goal?”
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Eurystheus was not unkind, and smiled at him paternally.
“If you don’t, you little toad, I’ll have you stuffed internally.”
Hercules relented, though he liked it not one bit.
“Good lad,” the King encouraged him, “Now go and get your kit.”
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Hercules emerged to strains of jeering and abuse,
Not what was expected by the fearless son of Zeus,
He took his place within the goal and spat on either glove,
As he had been instructed by his father from above.
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Suddenly there came a roar of edifying force,
And from the tunnel, trotted an immense half-man, half-horse.
He cantered up to Hercules and stopped in front of him.
“Good afternoon, O Son of Zeus,” he said, “My name is Tim.”
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Now Hercy was athletically adroit, but then of course,
He’d never faced a penno from a large half-man, half-horse.
The ball was placed upon the spot and Tim prepared to kick,
While Hercules stood trembling and feeling rather sick.
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Half-man, half-horse came running up, and kicked with all his might.
Instinctively, bold Hercules dived off towards his right.
The ball, though, went the other way and crashed into the goal,
Broke the net and left a rather funny, ball-shaped hole.
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The crowd all went bananas, as Big Tim lined up the second.
“He’ll put it in exactly the same place,” the goalie reckoned.
And so he dived the other way, but still got left for dead,
As the ball went crashing fiercely in the other side instead.
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It was a quarter hour that poor Herc would not forget,
As football after football was despatched into the net.
Eventually the King appeared, after yet another scorcher,
Humanely terminating the bamboozled keeper’s torture.
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The King put a paternal arm around the goalie’s shoulder,
[Who seemed in fifteen minutes to be twenty five years older.]
“He hoofs a lot,” he said, “but I still stick with my decision
That centaur forward has to be his optimum position.”