Shels 1 Rovers 1
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They know how to play us, Liam Buckley’s mad troops,
Unsporting pretenders in green and white hoops.
A well-disguised elbow, a kick in the ankle,
Persistent and niggly, intended to rankle,
Designed to provoke an offensive reaction,
The football reduced to a minor distraction.
All night we were needled and booted and bugged,
And nearly, so nearly, effectively mugged.
The ref let things go when it seemed inconvenient,
The hatchet men thrilled he was being so lenient.
It worked like a dream when they beat us three nil,
The loud warning klaxon blew strident and shrill,
But still it appeared that we’d not learned the reason
For suffering our only reverse of the season.
And thus, as skill made not the slightest impression,
Poor Wes was dismissed for a small indiscretion,
For saying, no doubt that the ref was slow-witted,
While all round the field, vicious fouls were committed.
A not-offside goal got an offside award,
And a blatant handball in the box was ignored.
And thus it looked likely, as full-time approached,
That Rovers’ defences would never be broached.
But Eoin’s great strike with the fat lady waiting,
Must for the Hoops have been really deflating.
Though my joyful emotions are somewhat confusing –
I’m very relieved we did not end up losing.
Yet even that thrill is eclipsed by the fact
That Rovers’ dire tactics were finally cracked.
And so I left Tolka tonight with a grin,
For sometimes a draw is as good as a win.
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