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Trevor

Peter Goulding

Tuesday, August 12th, 2003

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Trevor sits back in his chair
Beneath his very boring hair
And pontificates about the game
In a voice that always stays the same.
And, as that nasal monotone
Begins to drone and drone and drone,
I feel my eyelids start to drop
And senses start to shut up shop.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Trevor sits back in his chair
Beneath his very boring hair
And smiles at me from my T.V,
Explaining all that’s plain to see.
I know that Keane deserved to go,
I don’t need Trev to tell me so.
I know the Leed’s back four was flat,
I don’t need Trev to tell me that.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 I remember Trev in West Ham days,
So useless in so many ways
He looked just like a pregnant yak
When running up to help attack.
He didn’t get stuck in at all,
Shut his eyes to head the ball.
His shooting skills were only crass.
His saving grace – that he could pass.

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Trevor sits back in his chair
Beneath his very boring hair
And telling us about the goal
I reach for the remote control.
I always have to give a miss
To his expert analysis.
I can’t believe I’d had my fill
Of brilliant, witty Jimmy Hill.

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/trevor/