There is a subtle difference
Between “Put” and
“Putt”
In meaning as well as
spelling
I will attempt to
elucidate
Their subtle
difference
Clearly in the telling
“Put” means to place
something
Where you ultimately
want it
“Putt” is an
unrealistic attempt
To do the same with the ball you hit
If Andy Murray wins Wimbledon
He will be called a
super brit
But if he fails like
those before
He will be that dour
Scottish git
Fed up of missing his favourite shows on TV
Young Ben wanted was
his own telly
“Could I have a telly
in my room dad”?
Reluctantly Dad said
yes to the lad
Ben stayed in his room
the first night
Next morning, he gave
his parents a fright
He asked his them
“what is love juice?”
His mother left making
some feeble excuse
Leaving his dad to
explain the basics
Of sexual intercourse
and its mechanics
The boy sat in open
mouthed amazement
Dad asked him after
his embarrassment
“Exactly what program
did you have on?”
The boy replied
"I was watching Wimbledon"
Waves of Rangers blue
Relentlessly Attack
Wave upon wave
Push their opponents
back
But this valiant
effort
This Rangers blue tide
That moved with
precision
Pushing opponents
aside
Did not happen in the
stadium
Nor was a ball at
their feet
This game took place
On Manchester’s city
streets
The Waves of Rangers
blue
With alcohol fuelled
Fight
Brought to bear upon
the police
Their vengeance and
their spite
But if during the
match
Such passion had been
on show
Then the UEFA cup
Might have gone to
Glasgow
May 14th 2008
The events following
the UEFA Cup final at the City of Manchester Stadium
After another dismal round of European qualifiers
I think it’s time for
a change
There are too many
countries now
So, I propose
something radical
Norway and Sweden
should merge
To become Swedway or
Norden
Spain and Portugal
could become
Sportugal, Porpain or
Spugal
Denmark and Finland
would be Finmark
Belgium and Holland
would become Belland
Germany and Austria
would either be
Gerstria or the fourth
reich
The Balkan states
could reform as Yugoslavia
Greece and Turkey
could be Treece or Gurkey
The USSR could
regroup, for sporting reasons only of course
And the home nations
could combine to become England
Are you wearing boxing
gloves?
Well as they say “if
the cap fits”
I should say it’s not
before time
And might curb your nocturnal habits
Tiger can drive a Golf ball
400 yards,
effortlessly
But can only drive a
car
Little more than three
We were predictable, disorganized and poor
Our ineptitude was
there for all to see
But as much as the
players failed to turn up
And performed disappointingly
We were tactically
bereft as well
Because Fabio Capello
has no plan B
As a footballer I must confess
My skills locker is
somewhat bereft
I am a naturally two
footed player
But unfortunately,
both of them are left
There are many differences
Between Rugby and
football
Rules, number of
players, ball shape
Goal posts, pitch
markings, duration
And so on and so forth
It was once said that
football
Is a gentleman’s game
played by ruffian’s
And Rugby a ruffian’s
game played by gentleman
Not quite as true as
it used to be
But still not far off
the mark
I’ve even heard it
said
That Football is
played by children
And Rugby by grownups
But for me the
difference
Can best be defined in
this way
A Footballer spends 90
minutes
Pretending to be
injured
While a Rugby player
spends 80 minutes
Pretending that he is not
They sing the homesick
blues
“We miss our families”
These pampered prima
donnas
Living in 5 star
luxury
In Afghanistan they
are home sick
They miss their
families
The soldiers living in
tents
Under fire from the
enemy
They sing the we’re
bored blues
“There’s like nothing
to do”
Like a bunch of seven-year-olds
Not men of over 22
We are so bored with
these players
And their incessant
whining
Waited on hand and
foot
Living it up on 5 star
dinning
They sing the we’re
tired blues
Like we have any
sympathy
Only having to play
once a week
Then after training
they are free
We’re tired waiting
for our heroes
When eleven strangers
appear
Where are the
premiership stars?
Who play weekly
without fear
We sing the England
blues
As each tournament
comes around
When each and every
time
Our dreams lie tattered on the ground
