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And so I took my prejudices
And sailed the skies
Across the mighty pond
Growing ever fond
Of the soft marshmallow clouds
That cushioned my mind
Taking me further and further away
From the daily pressures
Of work, work, work
Cleaning, washing, driving
Of chore after chore
And the utter bore
As we watch sideways movement
With nowhere to go
Because its possession, that’s the obsession.
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But I looked and I looked, in this land of plenty
And really, found it absurdly empty, of bourgeoning talent.
I wanted to see the next Clint Dempsey
And certainly someone ten times better, than Matt Miazga.
Maybe Pulisic is the answer
But in his homeland
He might as well be Persil.
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And as for bantz?
Mention “Soccer” and mostly you’ll draw a blank.
“Baseball” – and you’ll be bored to death, by the numerical nerds and their soporific stats
“Basketball” – and its foreign lexicon, of “guards”, “boards” and “rebounds”
“Ice Hockey” – more “guards”, “boards” and…. I couldn’t give a puck
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And so of course, the ears prick-up
With the many mentions of … “football”
But every reference is taser’d, by the knowledge that it is anything but…
For it’s all hands, elbows and shoulder pads
And the ball is kicked, by only one, the wimpy one
So how on earth did they alight, on our treasured moniker?
When it is but Rugby light? Rugby re-mastered?
For it is more like Puntball, Shoveball, Heaveball
Gruntball, Groanball, Gridball
Driveball, Flagball, Huddleball,
Scrimmageball, Snapball, Sackball
But certainly not…..