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The fans were blowing hard on odd-shaped cornets
As the competition started without hitch.
It sounded like a swarm of angry hornets
Was buzzing round the Soccer City pitch.
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But then, in front of Pontius Pilate Blatter,
They went a little bit too far as hosts.
They served a goal up on a silver platter,
Bidding Marquez shoot between the posts.
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The World Cup’s start, as usual, impresses,
Kicking off with quite a tasty trailer,
Though I’m unsure, as the tournament progresses,
How long I’m going to stick that vuvuzela.
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We had a plan in work to watch the football,
A fairly foolproof notion, it was claimed.
We would apply the science
To watch the Uruguyans
Playing versus Those Who Can’t Be Named.
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We couldn’t get the match to play online, though,
And no-one knew too much about IT.
There was jeering, there was hooting
As we roundly cursed computing,
But not a shot in anger did we see.
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Of course, as I was nominally most senior,
I was their prime target to be blamed.
Yes they threw me to the lions
When the unseen Uruguyans
Played the formless Those Who Can’t Be Named.
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There’s only one thing saved me from a lynching
When gremlins in my pc came a-calling –
Though the fates were squarely stacked
I was rescued by the fact
That the match, it seems, was utterly appalling.