Wash Out, Here I Come
¶ 1
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Torrential rain began to fall
Before the match began at all.
The wind blew strong, the torrents lashed,
As on the pitch, the players splashed.
The “raining holders of the Cup”
Were eager to go one goal up,
But Shels defence would not conform
And weathered the now-raging storm.
They soaked up all the Town attacks
[It was plain sailing for our backs],
Conditions though, were not that good,
Except maybe for Brian Flood,
And ‘twas surprising at the back,
There was no place for Tony Mac.
But Richie Baker kept his place,
And revelled in oceans of space.
He floated o’er some lovely crosses
To Shelbourne’s number ten Colossus.
Our spirits were not dampened by
The thought that we weren’t home and dry.
Amusing in the second session,
When Kev did his jet-ski impression,
And Phil Keogh, all in a muddle,
Slid fifteen yards into a puddle.
Ollie tried to take it solo,
Trying some tricky water polo.
When Rogers tried to boot it out,
He kicked a very startled trout.
And though bould Jason walked on water,
At last the ref chose to abort ‘er.
Abandoned after just an hour,
Once more we failed to beat that shower.
And so we really cannot crib,
Although it ended a damp squib,
‘Twas madness, all agreed, to make
The players play upon a lake.
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