MATCH OF THE DAY

 

I took the boys to the match

Down the road on Saturday

I take them to the home games

But we never ever go away

 

They’re only a conference side

About mid table if we’re lucky

If we manage a decent cup run

The pundits call us plucky

 

Almost numb with boredom

We suffered a dull first half

The ref fell over on his arse

So at least we had a laugh

 

To cheer the boys up a bit

I took them to a burger bar

I didn’t know how long we’d be

The line didn’t seem that far

 

The true concept of “fast food”

Seems to have passed them by

As we spent half time queuing

For two hot dogs and a pie

 

I sent the boys to the stands

Coming over all paternal

I queued on my own and missed

Two goals after the interval

 

Back in the stand with the boys

I realized I’d got nothing for me

And when I tied Josh’s shoelace

 I missed goal number three

 

I saw the last five minutes 

Until the final whistle blew

Still at least we won the match

The last time we only drew

 

Match days are meant to be fun

I must be totally off my brain

Halfway home without a coat

It starts to pour with rain

 

Forty quid to see the match

Plus, fast food and a program

Still at least I spent the day

With my boys Ben Josh and Sam

CONFESSIONS OF A HOOKER

 

Lying in bed on their wedding night

The newly wed wife said, eyes full of tears

“Before we were married

I was a hooker for eight years

The husband said to her calmly

That he had no concern about it

And that it might even

Spice up their nuptials a bit

Then she got flustered

And said “no, no you don’t understand

My name was Jeremy

And I played Rugby for England”

QUIET PLEASE

 

 

If you are a City fan
Keep silent if you can
As you stand at Old Trafford
As silence falls in accord
Please don’t speak out
Please don’t scream or shout
Acknowledge the silence
For those who lived once
Don’t think about the “Babes”
Cold and dead in the carnage
If hatred in your heart and head
Stops you honouring United’s dead
Give your silence as a gift
In remembrance of Frank Swift

FOLLOW THAT MAN

Many years ago, when

One hundred white men

Chased a single black man

It would have been the Klan

However, we can be sure

Today it’s just the PGA tour

AT THE ANNUAL PANCAKE RACE

 

At the annual pancake race

The winner is always smug Trace

I’m always at the rear of the chase

Limping home in last place

Then I must congratulate Trace

And engage in a false embrace

When I really want to hear the base

Of the frying pan hitting her face

THE PANCAKE DAY RACE

 

The Pancake Day race was a popular event

And was held amidst much happy hoorays

Until the runners became too competitive   

And behaved like parents on sports days

IN OR OUT OF SYNCH

If a synchronized swimmer

Were to drown

Would the rest of the team

Also go down?

IT’S A FUNNY OLD GAME SAINT

The crowd at Woking’s ground
Loudly jeers and mocks
They call the striker jigsaw
As he goes to pieces in the box

 

BILLY THE KID

 

The noble art of pugilism

It has often been called

Not all would agree

And some are just appalled

Young fighter Billy Owen

Was barely standing

After being pounded

For three rounds in the ring

It was so noisy you couldn’t

Hear the bell sound

The ring of the bell

To mark the end of the round

The battered and bloody

Boxer sat on his stool

If you’d seen him, you’d

Agree the sport is cruel

The corner man took a look

And gave his view

“You’re doing ok kid

He’s not laid a glove on you”

The kid replied

“Then keep an eye on the referee”

“Because someone’s

Beating the crap out of me”

WITCHFINDER

Witchcraft abounds

In Wimbledon

This is a conclusion

That’s forgone

And there are witches

Everywhere

See if you can spot one

If you dare

Agassi is one and

That Tim’s a witch

And then there’s Goran

Even e’s a vitch

TEN MINUTES LATE

 

In a brand-new job and in a brand-new town

       A young man named George started working

A group of his fellow employees always met

       For a round of golf every Saturday morning

After finding out that George was a golfer

       He was asked if he could make the golf date

George replied that he would love to play

       But that he might well be ten minutes late

On Saturday morning he was there at ten

       He played right-handed and won the play

Next week George says that he will be there

       But he may be ten minutes late on the day

He shows up right on time and proceeded

       To play golf left-handed, and win the round

This continues for a fair number of weeks

       He may be ten minutes late on the ground

But without fail always turns up on time

       And then wins playing with either hand

The other players are getting fed up with this

       And an explanation for this they all demand

“George, every Saturday you say you may be

       Ten minutes late, but are never late to begin

“Then you play either right or left-handed”

       “And despite this” they said, “you always win?”

 “I’m superstitious so every Saturday I wake up

       I look over at my wife in the first morning light

If she sleeps on her left side, I play left-handed

       If she’s sleeping on her right side, I play right”

They absorbed this information with disbelief

      “Well,” one of the men said “tell us straight”

“What happens if she is laying on her back?”

      George replies, “Then I’m ten minutes late.”