The County Clare Final
¶ 1
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‘Twas the day of the regional Final,
A petulant, niggly affair.
The rain pelted down
On the bonny, wee town
In the picturesque county of Clare.
¶ 2
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The underdogs, Doolin, were battling
With all of the strength they could garner.
They were playing it rough
But it wasn’t enough
To unsettle the great Lisdoonvarna.
¶ 3
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The rain did not make for great football,
The pitch became flooded with water,
And fans of each club
Buggered off to the pub
To renew their acquaintance with porter.
¶ 4
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Then the poor Doolin fullback went sliding,
Upended the fleet-footed winger.
And the ref ran up, dashing
Through lakes loudly splashing,
Whilst waving an unhappy finger.
¶ 5
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“A two-footed tackle, young Regan!”
Said the ref, as he brandished a yellow.
“Don’t go in quite as hard,
Or you’ll get a red card,
You young and impetuous fellow.”
¶ 6
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“A two-footed tackle, ye’re saying?”
Quoth Regan with a sarcastic cackle.
“Don’t think that I’m chiding,
But did ye no’ see me sliding?
It was more like a fifteen foot tackle.”
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