Testy testing and sorry times for Australian cricket; I’m sorry too, but now the cheats bring out their crocodile tears and sob into their hankies… sorry- someone hand me a bucket.

A Sprinkle Of Sympathy?

Up they step to bare their soul,
Down every sad face the tears roll,
From once cold steely eyes they stream,
Sorry tears from the core of the Aussie team.

The bowler who first got the bad ball rolling
Has had a pregnant pause put in his bowling,
The captain, as he swats away his bitter tears
Knows he’ll be on the back foot for years.

The head coach looked set to take it on the nose
But then he sniffs and blows and ups and goes!
Add the vice-captain and his soppy spouse
And there’s not a dry eyes in the house.

©Obbverse

Aussie cricket in a lather, thanks to a sense of bullet proof belief that cheating isn’t that big a deal. Ah, yes it is, still.

All Class Ass.

Who’s that sitting in the naughty corner?
Why, it’s ex Vice-captain David Warner;
Pugnacious Davey is now counting the cost
Of cheating to win, but how much has he lost?

Its not the Vice-captaincy loss that makes him bite his lip,
It’s those millions for playing in India, and his sponsorship,
All he did was try to ‘manipulate an advantage’ to win…
For the soul of him David can’t see why that is a sin?

For Davey it’s just not cricket for 365 more days,
Time a’plenty to tote up the cost of his cheatin’ ways;
Someones gone and taken away Davey’s bat and ball
Yet it feels like he’s getting his just deserts after all.

©Obbverse

The NRA starts to make some noise and kick back against the young gun control marchers. Maybe they (the NRA) and us feel the tipping tipping point is here?

Backfiring on the NRA.

Trust the NRA to dampen the kids carnival atmosphere,
Those noisy kids LaPierre doesn’t want to see nor hear,
Why can’t they hold the Second Amendment dear?
Why can’t they forget their poor start to their year
And, like the NRA take time… for the smoke to clear?
Wayne wishes these protesters would just quietly disappear.

As the kids say, Mr LaPierre- blow it out your rear.

©Obbverse

The Australian cricket team, an example to the discerning cricket fan on how to play the game with grace and dignity- $#!+, I meant gross indignity.

Stevie Smiths Winning Ways.

Captain Courageous doesn’t mind the sledge,
It gees up the boys in green, gives ’em an edge,
And, of course, all within the rules of his fair game,
That’s always been smooth silver-tongued Smithy’s claim.

But its not a bit of banter he’s used in Cape Town,
His lapse of judgement- and actions- have let him down,
He was happy to see the ball and rules bent out of shape-
No need to peer to see the evidence, Steve, just roll the tape.

Steve won’t resign, its just a heartfelt ‘sorry, let’s move on;
‘Sorry’ sounds hollow, though, when any heart has long gone,
Fronting the world’s best team, yet he cheats wherever he can,
The reason he was caught out is the only reason he’s a sorry man.

©Obbverse

President Putin wins his election, and the world clamors to congratulate him on his narrow victory. Well, one word leader does.

Con       gratulations?

Russia is electing their President, and it’s the same again,
‘All hail President Putin’ is the Kremlins enduring refrain,
Vladimir’s grasp on power is relentlessly ongoing
The ‘popularity’ of the President shows no signs of slowing.

Now Don ill-advisedly phones in his congratulations and delight
Since Putin has dazzlingly won his democratic election… right..?
Yet for Donald the epithet ‘Democrat’ is such a damn dirty word,
He, Vlad and Xi Jinping think leader for life is the term preferred.

Vlad feels he- alone- is fit to serve,
To oppose him takes resolve- and nerve,
Vlad’s electoral victory is unsurpassed                                                                                 Since his opponents tend to come in dead last.

©Obbverse

Donald on the down-low; Stormy Daniels getting the cash, McCabe getting the push. Who says Don is a petty President?

Lies In The Eyes Of The Beholder.

Donald was all for political leaks
In the elections frantic final weeks,
Then a whistle-blower was a patriot,
Now Donald is President, they’re not.

Since Donald’s butt is in the hot seat
All he does is bleat and Tweet,
Now Donald’s no whistle-blowers friend,
Demanding all this disloyalty must end.

Andy McCabe spoke out of turn
And is the latest one to learn
That Donald brooks no dissension
If you want to collect your pension.

Yes, it’s best for you to stay mute
About Donald and some massively cute
Woman he came accross on the golf course;
Don doesn’t want to cough up for a divorce.

No, best to keep that story hushed,
Don might emerge red and flushed,
When it comes to a marital moral lapse
Don is keen to keep it all under wraps.

Dons lawyer has done his expensive best
For Stormy to keep it close to her expansive chest;
Could Melania believe its all a storm in a double DD cup?
Don should’ve busted the bank to stop this going ti-… belly up.

©Obbverse

Rex Tillerson and Donald Trump, a parting of the ways. Who’d have thunk it?

Such Sweet Sorrow.

It’s goodbye to Rex, ex Secretary of State,
The latest to find Don’s America ain’t so great,
He suspected Mueller, not he, would be going next,
But the Great Man fired him, and predictably, by text.

Could that be a tic twitching on his cheek?
From a weary eye do we see a teardrop leak?
How bravely Rex strains to remain comported
But his mask of a face seems strangely contorted.

Does old Rex look sad and forlorn?
Perhaps it’s my eyes, but I could’ve sworn
That only yesterday Rex looked much older,
A man bent of back and stooped of shoulder.

We haven’t seen this face of Rex for a while,
That glum morose face enlightened by a smile,
He used to always flash that slick oily smile once:
Where’s it been hiding for the last fourteen months?

©Obbverse

Barnaby Joyce, a pric… sorry, that should be a Prince among men. He cheats, shacks up with his secretary, then muddies the waters on the issue of the paternity of the child of his mistress. What a guy.

A Right Couple.

It’s the same old story, the secretary shags bags the boss,
Barnaby’s leaving leaves his wife and kids feeling a tad cross,
But after seeing his carryings-on, they’ll accommodate his loss.

Barnaby and Vikki look uncomfortable in the spotlights glare,
Some loyal Nationals still believe it’s all their own private affair;
Yes, fair enough, till Barnaby declares he has something to share…

His weaselly words could have come straight from Big Brother,
He claims the paternity of her love-child is known to the mother!
Don’t Vikki and toss-her-under-the-bus Barnaby deserve each other?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Barnaby is wanting some action, he gets the cold shoulder instead;
Sweet Vikki promised something more than pillow talk would be said;
Are our boy Barnaby’s ears burning on his cold blasted side of the bed?

©Obbverse

David Warner, cricket maestro, mouths off. Dave takes offence to someone verbally maligning his wife on the field. This is known as ‘sledging’ and Davids team are the masters. Oh, and David does lead from the front.

A Sympathetic Ear.

Oh, Davy Warner, you poor delicate innocent little flower,
Has the onfield jolly jokey blokey jousting begun to sour?
Did De Kocks disagreeable dialogue offend the ear, so tender
Of crickets deep-dredging low down sledging main offender?

It’s understandable for Davy to blow his fuse
When his wonderous team occasionly gracelessly lose,
But even when the bas Baggy Greens win
He can’t help putting his too little sense in.

So what has brought about whining Warnies petulant pout?
He can’t take the fact someone else is dishing it out;
So does he keep his counsel, as a good vice-captain ought?
Crikey, not on your ever-loving effing blinding life, sport.

©Obbverse

Communicating with the President is a tough call for Hope Hicks.

Out Of The House.

In her dealings with the everyday madness at Dons funny farm
Ms Hicks has dealt with the in-patients with patience and calm,
She has dealt with infantile rants and rages with some aplomb,
Quietly remaining a trusted rock in the Trumpian maelstrom.

But after an enlightening little nine-hour talk
Hope seems happily resigned to take a walk,
She told them she’d told a few little white lies,
What they told her widened those innocent eyes.

She follows in the footsteps of many who’ve gone before,
Dubke, Spicer, Scaramucci, now Hicks and how many more?
Donald sits in the middle of another great big steaming mess;
Who dares hope to control his eruptions knowing he’s Hope less?

©Obbverse