Football Poets

City on the point of a major crisis

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 So what goes around
Almost certainly comes around
Manchester City
The team who so adorned
With such delicious purity
Wild, uninhibited fantasy
Straight from the copybook
Of Sir Alex’s United
Hefty tome of poetic lyrics
When Beckham, Giggs, Scholes and Butt
Strutted and swaggered through
Admiring defences
And football was indeed beautiful.
But now City having reeled off
Four consecutive Premier League titles
Now find themselves on the verge
Of the most criminal calamity
Could the team who rang that bell
Even Colin Bell at Maine Road
May find themselves spiralling
Horrifically towards financial oblivion
And down into the black hole
Of League One or even League Two?
City, you’ve been caught with
Your hands in the cookie jar
You stand accused of cooking the books
Cheating disgracefully
Winning Premier League titles
By blatant deceit and skulduggery
Fiddling the figures
Not being up front
What on earth would the great
Peter Swales
City’s accountant the finest
Of them all
Would have buried his head
And said
Sorrow, most assuredly
In his hands?
This time there were undoubtedly
Dodgy sponsorship agreements
That City chose to ignore
Bordering on illegitimacy
Perhaps those mischievous Saudis
Who run the show at the Etihad
Were just flaunting too much wealth
And spent far too many millions
On players who certainly delivered
But were playing under false pretences
City could be getting their comeuppance
For indulging in dangerous dishonesty
Declare your guilt now
Before the courts haul you up
On charges you simply can’t deny
Manchester City
Once regarded as comedy clowns
And music hall jokes
In the late 1980s and 90s
Wobbling on the high wire act
And almost falling into the
Catastrophic piranha tank
Of the old Third Division
Could be poised to return
From whence they came
Eaten up alive by the likes
Oldham, Rochdale, Bradford City
Gillingham must fancy their chances
Again after nearly consigning
City to the hard labour
Of yet murkier depths
Of lower tier football
But it can’t happen again
Or could it?
If only Big Mal
Malcolm Allison and Uncle Joe Mercer
Could see the
Ghastly and gruesome predicament
That City may now face
This terribly embarrassing mess
Surely not demotion to the land
Of nowhere and empty terraces
At the Etihad
It’s unthinkable, unimaginable
But Manchester City
It’s time to take a deep breath
Corruption is about
To slam its ruthless door
On you and your club’s
Gilded and golden heritage
Pep will protest your innocence
Of course he will
But it doesn’t look good
A savage fine could be
The ultimate punishment
But League Two football
And the old Fourth Division
Is the nightmare scenario
That none can even consider
For even a second
Let alone a minute
The neutrals wish you the best
Dark clouds of shocked solemnity
Hover over the City citadel
But for the sake of football
The game needs your eternal flair
And fleet footed fluency
Important points docked perhaps
In the Premier League
But never extinction from
The football league pyramid
Some fans on your side

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