Allegiance transferred; Ronaldo gambles on seven red. Game on?

The Old Boy.

Ron arrived here a scrawny kid,
Left, just the man for Real Madrid,
Then Juventus, in the white and black,
Then- what the devil? Ron's come back.

Ronaldo's no fast-mouthed kid any more,
Let's pray his best has not gone before,
He's signed on till he'll be thirty-eight,
Let's hope he's worth his going rate.
''Well, the truth is, its two years till I'm out of the red.'
I hope he's not past it. Otherwise he might get a free kick from the Stretford End.

©Obbverse.

More travails from South London. Flippin’ football!

(On losing 0-3 at Selhurst Park to Burnley- bleeding Burnley!)

Same Old Selhurst Story.

Losing to lowly Burnley is hard enough to comprehend
But coughing up three lousy goals at home tends to send
A message to fans and foes alike; if it's goals you're seeking
Come to Selhurst Park, where the home side's goal keeps leaking.

Down, down the table the wounded eagles painfully descend,
Our front boys can't hope to score, our defenders won't defend,
Nowadays Roy's tried and true old school team tactics are creaking,
With the teams average age well over thirty, they're well past tweaking.

We're sinking towards the relegation end,
Waiting to be washed down, 'round the bend,
Roy stubbornly still says his old boys are just peaking
But what a load of old cobblers Hodgson keeps speaking!

Not you, not I dare say old Roy is not well intentioned
But half Roy's hobbled side also deserve to be pensioned,
I'm told I'm sounding ageist with my sage but savage critiquing-
The naked truth is this team of stumblebums is well past streaking.

‘All grey foxes and bald Eagles.’

 

 

©Obbverse

Once you’ve finally managed to dredge your team up to the Premier League in English football the hard work isn’t over, it’s only just beginning. Along with the glory comes a scant few ups, quite a few more downs, plus another almost certain pitfall- just ask any committed West Bromwich Albion fan.

Temporarily Promoted.

That West Bromwich Albion crowd are all celebrating again,
There’ll be cheers and beers being hurled in Halfords Lane,
Navy and white scarves will abound around Old Birmingham town,
At least till next May when, historically they’re bound to go down.

The Albion are one of those teams that drive loyal fans to drink,
All season long, nailed to the table bottom or clinging on the brink,
The Baggies, back in in their regulation spot, flirting with relegation-
At least of late poor Aston Villa fans can sympathise with that situation.

Still, congratulations! on becoming Birminghams second best,
Now two bum *Brum fans can still share in one common interest,
For one season the twain are Premier League teams, and so sitting pretty,
Both loving lording it over mutually loathed Wolves and Birmingham City.

*Appellation the lucky locals use for Birmingham.

©Obbverse

Tennis star Novak Djokovic’s stubborn stance on playing through the pandemic proves problematic.

Return Of Service.

Oh, naive Novak Djokovic, where have you been?
Traipsing around Serbia, serving up Covid-nineteen?
Showing unmasked contempt for any possible vaccine
Till a routine swab returns results Novak hadn’t foreseen,
Novak was positive his snot samples would come back clean:
Gone from playing in open tournaments to staying in quarantine.

 

©Obbverse

When the team you support’s been soundly beaten, some humble pie must be sadly eaten. England 19, All Blacks 7.

Black Out.

Would our mighty All Blacks stack up?
Could our twice World Cup winners back up?
How many points agin the Poms would we rack up?

But those big bad butt-ugly Blighty boys broke our attack up,
An hour in and its either reach for the Prozac or crack up-
At full time its back to the Hotel to weep, then pack up.

 

©Obbverse

‘Tis a dark, even a black day for the most devoted devout and stout Irish sports fan dis sad day. Commiserations are all I can offer. So sorry. (All Blacks 46 Ireland 14 )

The Cup Runneth, Over.

In public houses up and down the Emerald Isle
There’s many a jar of good Guinness been drunk,
But there’s little good cheer, no, there’s nary a smile,
Only tears in the beer on seeing Cup dreams being sunk.

 

©Obbverse

The sorry tale of Stephen Kearney and the even sorrier Warriors league ‘team.’ Another woeful display, and no referees to blame this time. What a shame.

Toss In The Towel.

Poor Stephen Kearney, Warriors coach, he’s had it tough,
Dealing with myopic moronic inept referees is bad enough
But he has to try to coach Warriors who have ‘focus Issues,’
A team trait that’s had his many predecessors reach for the tissues.

The Canberra Raiders waltz in to the Warriors home town;
By half time our unlucky Warriors are already thirty points down,
The players wonder why Sweet-As Stevie Cuzzy Bro’s mood is foul-
Just ’cause the boys haven’t turned up he’s throwing in the towel.

They feel for Steve, but ‘Hey Bro, chill it’s just another Saturday,
Win or lose, we Warriors get well paid, even if we can’t, well… play,’
No wonder poor Steve looks lost, dismayed, distraught and distressed
That’s the attitude that has him clawing at his hair, and, soon, his chest,

This dispiriting woeful effort is the latest blow to the Warrior coaches pride,
Alas, poor Kearney, another aspiring coach whose spirit has just died,
It’s his lot to join that sorry lot of ex- Warriors coaches Stevies a broken man-
Well, Stephen, welcome to the club, you’re not the only broken-hearted ex-fan.

 

©Obbverse

The Premier League Football Show! Drama, farce, heart-rending finales! Or a cheap slipshod Horror Show. Direct from Manchester, we present-

Dribbling On.

I’ve been reduced to tears with what I’ve just sadly seen,
A bad Shakespearean tragedy, played out on the big screen,
I saw a dull first act, then a direr second half, ay, but the rub
Was seeing City outperform United, down at our neutral pub.

How those happy blue-clad lads scoffed and laughed
As I sobbed in the shadows, hand clenched to my Draught,
To drown my sorrows it’s swig, swallow, belch- then repeat;
But not even Boddingtons can dull the pain of this bitter defeat.

I rewound the game in my mind, I compared the teams,
My United looked all clapped-out at the Theatre of Dreams,
Especially statuesque Pogba, devoid of emotion- or motion;
The only thing to get him goin’ would be some Sennapod potion.

Our offence seemed content to quietly sit back
Hoping indolence would be the best form of attack,
The City midfield were all fleet of foot and quick of mind,
Ours gave chase, ran all over the place, always two feet behind.

But our backline stood tall and strong, stout and true,
They and the keeper conspired to keep out all- but two;
So all I can do is put on a smile and say ‘the best team won,’
I love Old Trafford, but Gunnar, there’s rebuildin’ to be done.

Walking woozily to the bar I recall when we were Best,
Now the froth has gone, up at the top are teams I detest,
It’s with tears in my beer I cry ‘Christ, how can life be so cruel?’
God above, my choice for Champion is down to City or Liverpool.

 

©Obbverse

Manchester United V Everton; A tough to swallow result for us poor Devils.

Red-eyed And Blue. (Sorry Wilco, I appropriated your title.)

Manchester United versus Everton?
The trip to Goodison should be a good one;
This is one Scouse team the Devils can beat,
Ah, downing those Toffees will taste sooo sweet.

But the game did not go United or Ole’s way,
The Reds ‘play’ left Ole lookin’ old and grey,
This four goal loss leaves poor Ole ashen faced
And Red faced Mancunians with a bitter taste.

 

Obbverse

Premier League letdowns; Tough times for the dogged, game but toothless Terriers of poor Huddersfield Town. Commiserations- of a kind- from a Crystal Palace fan.

Down In Hudddersfield Town.

Huddersfield Town’s future, so bright last June
Finally faded at Crystal Palace this dull afternoon,
It’s bound to be a silent, sad, sombre- and sober- coach trip
As the Terriers head back up North, down to the Championship.

By Xmas, Town knew it was gonna be tough at the top
But it’s a lot rougher when you’re the first team to drop,
To survive in the Premier League is a simple numbers game;
When Town tote up their losses all it amounts to is a crying shame.

If only Huddersfield’s brittle defence had been stronger
Or if their busy goalkeepers arms had been a little longer,
Or if they had a striker- or two- to pop in an occasional winner
The Terriers season mightn’t be finishing up a total dogs dinner.

 

©Obbverse