Into added-on time and still the only highlight
this bitter Tuesday night has been the lino
right in front of us tumbling into mud. Our lot
aren’t taking this latest pasting especially well:
five names in the book and odds-on for a red
before the end. Our white-booted number nine,
who joined on a free for a fresh start, has taken
now to verbals, verging on actual fisticuffs,
with us in the paddock, for having the temerity
to query his work-rate and shooting prowess.
The gobby away fans are bouncing up and down,
as if they’re trouncing Real, in the Bernabeu.