Friday, 16 December 2011

A Christmas Poem

It was mid-December, and everyone had decided
They have no chance of winning, that Manchester United
They have no midfield, the pundits do howl
Having lost Darren Fletcher, to an irritable bowel

But the competition was no better, as far as I could see
Chelsea Arsenal Liverpool, And Manchester City
And their is some that say, Tottenham could be the pick
But they would be nothing, without Luka Modric

Chelsea already, 7 points off the pace
They had to beat Man City, just to save face
Starting to look like their time, in the sun had dawned
Having spent 50 million, on a bench riding blond

It was only back, in the year 2003
When they appeared ready to rule, the footballing country
Abromavich trying to buy, all the trophies he could carry
And he'd have them, had it not been for a slip by John Terry

Arsenal fans, seem to think they can compete
As if beating Wolves, is a fantastic feat
They rely on a striker, who can score any day
Assuming his hamstring, holds up okay

A side that can clearly, only be loved by their mothers
Desperate for their team to be considered, as big as the others
They built a bigger stadium, so as not to be outdone
Holds ton of fans, but their trophy capacity is none

Then there is those Sunday leaguers, they call Liverpool
Honestly, who would cheer for them? Only a fool
Where to start, there's so much that this team lacks
Though they have one good striker, the one who hates blacks

Their Europa League hopes, are barely alive
They hold on to their last trophy, in 2005
As pitiful a squad, as I've ever seen
How many premier leagues have they won? A meager 18

Manchester City seem, to be the main competition
Though their title hopes, may never come to fruition
Their squad looks strong, their record pretty much spotless
But you can't always buy trophies, as Chelsea has taught us

Collected a bunch of babies, who all need their soother's
Not sure you can make winners, out of a bunch of losers
Man City win the premiership? You make me crack up
I mean it took almost half a century, just to win the FA Cup

Man City does currently sit, 2 points clear
With Man U apparently having a, "down year"
With many games in hand, let's not forget this
Sir Alex has previously, done more with less

And as they say in boxing, about the elite
A champion always, gets back to their feet
So when the season is done, and all has been said
Just remember one thing, MANCHESTER IS RED!


Anonymous said...

I’ve bastardized Ernest Lawrence Thayer’s great baseball poem “Casey At The Bat” to commemorate the events of the most memorable December 7th ever.

The outlook wasn’t too bad for the Man U side that day:

The table read nine points, with but one more game to play.
A win could have them top, a draw would see them through,
Then Basel ruined ev’rything, and proceeded to score two.

Man City needed favors, a leaky sub ‘gainst Napoli.
All that money’d be for naught this year if the Italians grabbed three.
A goal from Marco Ruben, a Nilmar strike would do,
That would give a chance to the expensive lads in blue.

Down there in the Alps did a red knight rant and rave
If only they could finish, their season could they save.
Wayne Rooney on the field, a hero he could be
Or dependable old Giggs, now pushing eighty-three.

But Streller scored one early, sparking joy from Swiss men all,
And Frei, the wayward son, put diving noggin to the ball.
And with the minutes ticking, the giants soon did panic,
Their ship was listing badly, and the nameplate read TITANIC.

City were home cruising, putting Bayern to the sword,
But rumors were a-swirling that struck a jarring chord.
“Inler’s scored a goal,” came a sick, lamenting groan.
And soon “Hamsik’s found a second” from a man with a mobile phone.

There was no ease in City’s manner as they saw out the minutes left to play.
This would be a famous triumph on most any other day.
But Villarreal were the whipping boys, last in all the Group;
Little chance and lesser hope that two goals they could recoup.

All the TV viewers, from Timbuktu to Seoul
Now fixed upon United, desperate for a goal.
Phil Jones then found one! At last, that thin life-line!
Would United come back here, like they had in ninety-nine?

A few short minutes left, enough to prove their mettle.
The world’s most famous club? Surely they were special.
Reds across the world poured hope like from a nozzle,
While fans of other teams whooped and cheered for little Basel.

Across the face of Europe, great towns will host great games
But in the hundred of Salfordshire, there will be more modest aims
There will be no Milan matchup, no great Barca intrigue:
The clubs from Great Manchester are in the Europa League.

Mike Collins said...

I like mine more.....less copy and pasting.