Not Much Cup.
A cup tie at Selhurst Park agin Grimsby Town,
Two minutes in and poor Town are one man down,
How the Eagles crowd did crow,
The Grimsby fans cry ‘Oh fu- Oh no!’
For Grimsby it’s now backs to the wall
While Palace aim for goals, for one and all.
For surely, this week at Selhurst the goals would flow…
We watched a grim nil-all draw, till with two minutes to go
After spurning chances galore
Luckily a Palace player did score;
Happily, for goals at Palace are precious and few,
And, Hallelujah, he even scored at the right end too.
Wandering Away From Home.
‘Twas at Wolverhampton, on a night crisp and clear
Crystal Palace kicked kicked off the first game of the new year,
But Wolves played like a pack of mongrels on this night,
They huffed and they puffed but they showed little bite.
But neither were the Eagles soaring,
This game was tame, tedious and boring.
If someone- anyone- wouldn’t score for us soon
We’d join in with the Wolves fans and howl at the moon,
In the last ten minutes Palace score not one goal but two,
But it’s been no walk in the park watching Wolves lose at Molineux.
We won, yet I feel sorry for Wolves all the same,
We had all endured a dog’s breakfast of a game.
What an inspiring result at Man City the Palace fans saw,
But we’re back to reality after Cardiff’s nil-all draw,
Some say the Welsh were plucky,
Some say Palace were unlucky,
Cardiff came with a rear-guard ponderous, leaky and porous,
Hell, those Bluebirds would- should- be easy pickings for us.
But the Palace sharp-shooters hit both the bar and the post,
(They do tend to clobber the woodwork more than most,)
Gawdamighty, they hit the bar, they miss the ricochet,
No, we wouldn’t be celebrating Christs birthday;
Surely after the Man City Miracle, Lord it would please us
If someone nailed in a couple of crosses. (Apologies to Jesus.)
Christmas Gift, Gladly Taken.
Santa’s gifts are real, I do believe;
‘Tis come on the eve of Christmas eve,
If you’re a Palace fan in Man City Land
Praying some bearded guy up there’d lend a hand.
Far away from the delights of Selhurst Park
Prospects for an Eagles win are usually dark,
But to hope for a win at City, ones odds are slim;
‘Twould be a monumental miracle, even for Him.
‘It’s a gift 3 points,’ thought those fans clad in blue
But they’ve left the Etihad with heavy hearts at 3-2,
Palace scoring 3 away comes only once in a blue moon,
Santa’s present has come early, on a Saturday afternoon.
Today we would see the Eagles soar,
We’d see off the bores from Turf Moor,
We tested Burnly’s Hart with shot after shot-
Poor old Joe must look like a pepper pot.
Such an unusual sight for the fans in the stands,
To see our Keeper clapping to warm his hands,
Finally McArthur lobbed in a wobbly cross,
His far post lucky bounce begins the Burnley loss.
This was to be the first of Palaces winning brace,
Owing less to McArthur skill than Divine grace,
Yes, our Palace sharpshooters would bumble in two-
But shoot twenty-odd times, odds are you score a few.
Then late late on Townsend shot from long range
And it didn’t fly up to the Heavens- for a change,
Now, manager Hodgsons nous is hard to refute,
With two minutes to go Sorloths out of his track suit.
Sloth ain’t out there for his silky skills or deft touch-
He’s not impressed on either front there overmuch,
Not Hodgson nor I expect Lex to score a goal sublime,
Sorloth’s on to prove- once again- he’s a waste of time.
I’ve been sorely tried to hold Palace in high regard,
And yes, it’s been a tough week for the Palace guard,
This week Spurs stole the sole goal, given half a yard;
If only our half-hearted offense would try half as hard.
For another week we hear old Roy’s comments-
Yet more talk of tough luck, bad calls, sad laments,
Good old Roy has a lifetime of wisdom to dispense
But this eternal optimist is running out of patience.
Today saw Wilfred Zaha appear amongst the suits,
He’d put his feet up , but not put on the boots,
Wiv Wilf out of the game it’s down to Roy’s recruits-
From the back of the class up Sorloths hand shoots.
Yes, today would be Alexanders lucky day,
Good old Roy reluctantly let ‘Lex out to play,
And as luck would have it the ball came his way
But alas, lead-foot ‘Lex also has feet of clay.
Glory beckoned for Scandinavia’s best,
For with an eagle eye our Norseman’s been blessed,
He shot unerringly- straight at the ‘keepers chest!
I near had conniptions, Roy near a cardiac arrest.
Whey-faced Roy feels in his chest the knife slowly twist,
Roy, your choice is is cut ‘Lex loose, or cut your wrist;
Now Sloth’s hot off the bench, and on to the transfer list,
His missed shot at Spurs guarantees he’ll not be missed.
No Direction Home.
The England party struck boldly forth
To a knees-up in Putin’s welcoming North,
Supporters hopes, then expectations increased
As they watch another unexpected sun rise in the East.
After England’s semi-disappointment they’re heading South
Going from up for the cup to looking down in the mouth,
Even as the sun sinks and Englands high hopes go West
Fourth place seems strangely better than second best.