Gaffers stood there ashen faced
As mad megastar trudged off
There was nearly ninety minutes played
When sanity was lost.
No cheering from the travelling fans
Or chanting from the pews
An angry man has left his team-mates
With it all to do.
Head bowed down he looks toward
The bloke who picks the team
That ain’t no smile aimed his way
But daggers to his chin.
In sanctum of the dressing room
He unlaces muddy boots.
Will the boys hold on to what they’ve got?
He’s dog meat if they lose.
Dressing room door burst’s open
Skipper marches in
And grabs the red card fruit and nutter
Underneath the chin.
“We’ve all got mortages to pay
We’ve mouths indoors to feed
You’re sending off nearly cost us dearly
But we held on to that lead
A win bonus means a fortune
To all these boys sat here
When you decided on an an early bath
It almost disappeard
Next time you put your hands up
Trying to knock off some blokes block
Try thinking about the rest of us
You selfish little sod!”
Man sent off, sits sullen
Alone and cast adrift
In future there’ll be more than a telling off
If he crosses Tommy Smith!