As a Crystal Place fan this all feels... strange, We're not used to seeing this kind of...change, It has my poor perpetually downcast head spinning, How can I make level sense of Palace actually winning?
But the team is winning more than less And If I wasn't a real(allistic) fan I confess I would be enjoying these moments, smiling deliriously But how long can I believe in Palace winning- seriously?
I thought once Manchester United came here We'd lose our way and normalcy would reappear, But the Red Devils, bereft of skill, lost to Palace 4 to nil, In any season it stands to reason that's a right royal miracle.
Our team of try-harders have learnt how to play? How did my poor Palace team find a winning way? Still, my logical mind tells me there's some kind of mistake, Please, can someone kindly pinch me to show me I'm awake?
(Wolves 1, Palace 3. I must be in Dreamland, or an alternate universe.)
‘From pathetic tragedy of playground proportions to golden triumphal run- at Palace?’
'Dream, dream away, Magic in the air, Was magic in the air? I believe, yes I believe, What more can I say?' John Lennon, '#9 Dream.'
The times I've watched Crystal Palace play and lose Has driven this once happy-go-lucky dude to booze, I've sat and watched my wretched misbegotten club Lose to lesser sides who've had the luck of Beelzebub.
I've watched this luckless team lose for far too long, So often I've seen my dream go nightmarishly wrong, The times my patience and belief have been sorely tried, The countless days I've watched and slowly died inside...
Oh, in such tearstained woeful misery I've wallowed, So many last-minute defeats I've retchedly swallowed, And after all my prayers to Good God (or what-have-you,) Today I do believe I've either lucked out or broken through.
For this Sunday mourning looking o'er Liverpool's ground A moment of rare and precious satisfaction has been found, To watch 60,000 Scousers** crying 'neath the wan Anfield sun- I know I'm no religious man, but Lord above, I owe You one. (Liverpool 0, Lucky Palace 1.)
*The Kop, part of the Anfield ground where the most fervent Liverpool fans cheer their team to victory. Usually. ** Scousers, term of endearment for the good folk lucky enough to reside in Liverpool.
'Sorry, Reds fans; today you'll never wail alone. I'll smile all I can, coz this never happens.'
'But dreaming's all I do, If only they'd come true.' Kylie Minogue (!?) 'I Should Be So Lucky.' (And today all my hopes and far-fetched dreams came true!)
Here's the story of a love that's pathetically sad, Of a relationship that pushes sanity to the brink, When the most equitable man can be driven mad, Slowly into low spirits, then deep despair you sink.
When it comes to a lifelong sporting passion Following the popular crowd defies my reason, Arsenal, Man C or Liverpool lead this years fickle fashion, But the true fan stays staunch, season after futile season.
I offer up a short tale that may help explain why I've long supported this peculiar particular mob team, The reason why on on wintery Saturdays I laugh and cry- The two emotions tend to blend into a maniacal scream.
If you're a far-flung fan of the beautiful game And you make the migration to London Town There's many a fine footballing team I could name That'll keep your spirits up and not let you down.
Up in North London Spurs or the Arsenal come to mind, To the East lies West Ham, replete with their nice new pitch, Off to the West, Fulham and Brentford, but most get behind Chelsea, successful due to the suspect riches of Abramovich.
I felt no kinship with posh Chelsea's nouveau riche, I didn't want to be part of the latest big spending trend, Plus, I have the kind of skin that bruises like a peach, My face wouldn't look right squashed in at the Shed End.*
So, not necessarily for me the glamour of the top tier- But nearby blue-collar Millwall proved no band of brothers- Those gap-toothed tattooed skinheads filled me with fear- Angry red-faced Denizens do notmix play well with others.
So I walked away from the Lions Den and into the Valley,** Charlton's pathetic teamwork didn't set my hear a' racing, (Jimmy F Hasselbaink couldn't score in a ten-pin bowling alley,)*** Soon further down the Southern roads I found myself pacing.
I found myself standing outside Selhurst Park,**** The floodlights soared up to quite a height, Then... a flash banished the encroaching dark, And on that fateful Sunday evening I saw the light.
Watching my first game, one thing I (un)easily understood, Clearly this team would struggle to get near the top division, And now, after so many bad years and the precious few good I've stupidly stoically supported Palace, so do I rue my decision?
Oh, what a crazy up and down team I chose to follow, I knew Palace would- could- never win the Premiership, Yet this constant taste of disappointment is hard to swallow, As for any FA Cup sweet taste of success, just a sniff, never a sip.
But there's no going back, I have to live with my choice, I'm stuck forever with being a red and blue shirt wearer, I've seen Chelsea's and Arsenal's fans win, sing and rejoice, The closest we've come's being coached by ex-Arse Pat Vieira.*****
Our club's carefully run by money men who don't dare buy success, (T)ask our Chairman for more funding, he gives... a nod and a wink, The Board needs to be investing more, they'd far rather spend less, Seeing cash-strapped Palace being pissed about drives me to drink.
But for better or worse, long ago I laid out my footballing stall, Every tough year I pray we'll somehow remain a Premiership club, But it's galling, sitting watching the Arse, 'Pool or Man City win it all, Is it jealousy or self-pity that drives this bitter man down to the pub?
* The Shed End- in the past, not where anyone other than a true Blue/White Chelsea fan wanted to be. **The Den, home of Millwall, nicknamed the Lions. The Valley, home ground of of Charlton Athletic. When I think I'm foolish supporting Palace I think of Charlton. Could be worse. ***Jimmy Floyd Hasselbaink, at Chelsea a very good goal scorer. Waltzed breezily into Charlton a fleet-footed legend, left limping. ****Selhurst Park, home of the Eagles. I hope they will soar, one fine day. Gotta hope; praying to the sporting Gods hasn't done anything yet. *****Patrick Vieira, a great ex-Arsenal player, not able to manage much great at Palace. Not given the chance.
'The warm welcome offered by the gentlemen of Millwall Football Club.'
'Now I'm the one who's crying, I'm a fool there's no denying, When will my heartache end?'
Crystal Palace at home to Sheffield United- Palace at home against the leagues worst team, For us Eagles fans the table should be righted, Any other result would be my darkest dream.
I feel my high expectations and excitement mount, The feeling of certain victory rises in my heart, Surely it's not if we'll win, but by what amount? I'm confident all we need's to get off to a flying start.
The game kicks off and thirty short seconds later* I'm profanely taking in vain the Good Lord's name- Viewing Palace has made me a master communicator, But I've no #&@%ing words fit for this accursed game.
* 28 seconds and United score, before our trusted but ageing manager Roy Hodson has had time to sit down and wipe his fogged-up glasses.
(Somehow Palace win 3-2. Against the rock-bottom team, at the Eagles home ground; Oh, the future is looking dark dark dark.)
Yet again 'AAAAAAAAAaaaaaaarg!'
Song for this latest mind-shredding fragile Crystal Palace ‘inspired’ effort is ‘You Done My Brain In’ The Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band.
After Luton; Looking At The Long Drop.
Crystal Palace versus homely Luton,
Surely a win away, with us commutin',
Three points on the road, it should be easy,
Yet travellin' today somehow leaves me queasy.
Once more our 'defence' is frail!
And once again our two 'strikers' fail!
Someone's blessed the goal of our host-
Our every shot bounces off pillar and post.
Yep, yet again a team of easy-beats
Leaves us squirming away in our seats,
Palace play like champs against a Man City-
Can't beat crap Luton, which leaves me shitty.
Mateta is just a bloody liability,
Eddy scores once in twenty-three-
Ability to miss chances- neither in doubt,
And neither know what an 'offside' is about.
Roy,* get a real striker for f*cks sake!
Someone more than merely half awake!
Some- anyone- to tuck plum chances away!
No wonder ol' Woy* looks greyer every Saturday.
* Roy 'Woy' Hodgson, our old wise head of a manager. (Maybe back on the pension if he can't kick a decent response out of his jackasses.)
(Lousy Luton 2, Piss-poor Palace 1.)
The only way I'm going to be able to keep following this f- football team without sinking into a major depression is a lobotomy. Gawd knows this team doing my brain in anyway.
Aaaaaargh!
Song to toss at this post. 'Reasons To Be Cheerful, Part 3,' Ian Drury And The Blockheads.
(One that means little to any American readers, but I'm sure every sports fan is familiar with this kind of official imbroglio. Plus, shit happens.)
South Africa 12, New Zealand 11.
Tom Foolery.
Losing in the World Cup I can take,
Sam Cane made the gravest mistake,*
His shoulder hit a Springbok bonce
And referee Wayne Barnes' instant response
Was to fiercely blow upon his whistle
Then wave a yellow card of dismissal,
And to the naughty seat Sam was sent
To ponder over any further punishment;
Which would be decided solely
By the undecidedly unbiased Tom Foley.
And so Tom Foley dutifully
Did his ugly job, beautifully,
Tom Foley does whatever he must
To be clear eyed and coldly just,
To be over ever vigilant and fair-
Did Sam act with diligence and care?
Had his good buddy Barnesy possibly erred?
After five minutes down came Gods Tom's word-
'That villianous bully Sam Cane
On his backside shall remain,
For the full match, for the foolish act
Of hard shoulder to head contact.'
Tom Foley felt he had little choice
But to let the whole world hear his voice-
'Sam Cane, from the game, begone,'
('Barnsey, forward pass the message on.')
Sad, but sorry Sam, you must pay the price.'
(Tom's prayin' lightning don't strike twice.)
But awkwardly for Tom comes Deja Vu-
Head-to-shoulder contact Number Two,
And a yellow card shown to Siya Kolisi**
To be upped to a red card, as surely must be!
Past judgement must mean it's 'see ya'
For the equally-guilty-as-Cain Siya?
...In some TV bunker many miles away
From the fever pitched state of play
More (un)wise heads review Kolisi's head shot;
Will they heed Tom's call for clemency or not?
After listening to Foley's unmitigated imploring
All say Siya's red mist moment is worth... ignoring.
'Twas obvious to my myopic grandmother
One was the carbon copy of the other!
But no... to Tom it seemed the saintly
Siya's shoulder grazed a Kiwi head, faintly,
Tom, your 'leave it at yellow' call, I won't deny
Leaves me looking at you with a jaundiced eye.
How can we defer to you, a simple TMOer***
Only there to assist the whistle-blower,
A set of extra eyes and ears to assist
Any tiny transgressions Barnsey has missed?
Tom's the fellow who gets in Barnes' head
To only recommend cards, yellow or red,
Tom seeks out what must be double-checked,
Reviewing every play for some knock-on effect,
Finding some fumble Wayne missed ten plays back,
Which (alas, alac) goes against the men in black.
For Tom, the devil is in the detail;
And 'tis true, losers often rant and rail
At lousy and inept officialdumb
Who must affect the game's outcome,
So, though I'm still feeling fu rotten
Our sporting tradition shan't be forgotten,
So, to winners South Africa I'll raise a toast,
But let us not forget those that matter most-
So, thanks Wayne Barnes, for reffing the game,
To Tom Foley, no thanks just the effing same.
* Sam Cane, New Zealand captain.
** Siya Kolisi, South African captain.
*** TMO, Television Match Official.
Not being a sour loser, just not quite accepting the loss with a winning smile.
Song for this one is The Main Ingredient 'Everybody Plays The Fool.'
Looking Green.*
Looking out o'er the Stadium de France
Emerald green Irish eyes were smiling,
Finally the boys had the chance
To do some overdue reconciling,
Beat those bastard blasted men in black,
Quarter finals, and time for some payback.
For the green team were seeded first,
And for the gamblers a (to be sure) bet,
But that giddy feeling slowly dispersed,
At games end Irish eyes fill with regret,
Gone out from the Rugby World Cup,
How those hollow green eyes well up.
* Don't worry Irish fans, it's all in jest, and anyway the All Blacks will probably crash out next week.
This all probably means absolutely zilch to most folk in America, but if it matters, the score was Ireland 24 New Zealand 28. Song/dirge for this is 'It's Not Easy Being Green,' the Muppets.
Watch And Weep.
It's no fun watching free to view TV these days,
It's all ugly reality shows, most deserve to be cut,
Who cares what Stallone mumbles or Kloe says?
And who can bear the sight of Kim's latest big butt?
So now we're going to expand our viewing horizons,
We're getting the Sports And Movies Sky Big Deal-
Now I'll see something I can keep my jaded eyes on,
Seeing top class football live at last held huge appeal.
When we had the Sky Sporting Package installed
'The beautiful game's our Premium Product' they said,
Bloody boring and yawn inducing it should be called-
After watching yesterdays 'game' I'm left brain dead.
I'd glazedly seen the Palace versus Forest game,
It proved to be an interminably long hard watch,
If riveting live entertainment was Sky's high aim,
What I saw was bargain basement, not top notch.
Both teams drudged away, all to lose, little to gain,
All I saw was 90 minutes of dour defensive tedium,
90 long minutes out of my life I won't see again,
Sky's Premier Show is now my unhappy medium.
(For what its worth, a nil-all draw- and that flattered both teams. I'd grade it a Z-)
Song for another (hopefully entertaining) lament is Wilco 'Sky Blue Sky.'
A Litany Of Lost Chances.
(Palace 0, Fulham 0.)
I get myself up late on a Saturday night,
Hoping to see a crushing Crystal Palace win-
Not this too familiar clumsy Palace plight-
Obviously it's a Fantasy Land I'm living in.
Once again it ends 'honours(?)' even,
Neither mob could put one in the net,
But despite the God I pray to believe in*
I regret this nill-all draw's the best I'll get.
Oh, it hurts to see us score zilch once more,
See our strikers miss in these wee wee hours,
To see the whole team fight tooth and claw
Containing great strikers. (Obviously, not ours.)
Ourshite strike force is more run of the mill,
Ours stand stolid, won't chase a simple pass,
Eddy's turn is too slow, Ayew's over the hill,
And Mateta's best shot is stuck in the grass.
I don't need to be here, sat half a world away!
Not another crap Palace display to sit through,
Then to moan and mope my way through Sunday
Over how our strikers are piss-poor. And shit too.
* As a Palace fan you're left on your knees many a time. Believe me.
'Drawing a blank- again.'
Song to gnash your teeth over while reading this is Graham Parker, 'Big Fat Zero.'
Mucked Up.
We've come to the bitter end of Transfer day...
Steve Parish has tucked his Buxton wallet away,*
Today Steve chose to be penny wise and not invest,
Spending cautiously is in his the clubs best interest.
Steve takes all the unspent cash back into the vault,
Steve takes all the fans criticism with a grain of salt,
Steve cares not if the fans voice their discontent,
What leaves Steve bereft is seeing money spent.
Steve can't bear to part with the club's transfer fund,
If he has to pay for progress he'd rather stay moribund,
He won't be pressed to buy, won't have his arm twisted,
Steve stays aloof, cool as ice, calm headed, tight-fisted.
Doesn't matter that we need reinforcements up in Attack,
Steve perceives a bargain, buys a cheap Arse Centre Back!**
We need to push Forward- we get Bargain Bob Rob Holding!
Who else foresees another year of defensive lapses unfolding?
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Though our two Strikers have both(!) struck a purple patch
Scoring and ably assisting well in the Wolverhampton match-
Time (and their past record) will show when the goals dry up
Might not Steve regret he didn't cough up the cash and buy up?
Then when the Palace fans troop into the ol' home ground
Might not they wonder where the rare goal will be found?
And as we draw yet another blank, rue our Strikers lack of luck
It's a win, and money in the bank for Steve 'Scrooge McDuck.'
* Steve Parish, Chairman and de facto paymaster of Palace.
** Arse = Arsenal Football Club.
Song for this one is 'St Stephen,' the Grateful Dead.
Obbverse 