Everyone wants a video ref in the game
There are no dissenting
voices I can name
Fans shout their support
and managers want it
Players are in favour
and even the refs want it
Because it is a change
that really matters
Everybody wants its except
Mr Blatter
I long since came to terms
Since John Barnes set
the trend
With footballers
wearing gloves
To keep their little
pandies warm
I am less understanding
Of players taking to
the field
With tights beneath
their shorts
But it seems I must
accept it
But the line has to be
drawn somewhere
And that line was
crossed
This very weekend
I was shocked beyond
belief
To see a player take
to the field of play
Wearing a muffler
about his neck
Shaven headed barbarians
And tattooed savages
Strut with preening
peacocks
In performing their
pantomime
While their vengeful
tribes
With banners held high
Chant their rhythmic
cacophony
Faces distorted with
hate
On the field of honour
They grapple and kick
They push and pull
They dive and roll
Assault and assail
Connive and cheat
In unforgiving
onslaughts
They perform for
baying hordes
A vile and brutal
spectacle
Always referred to
As the beautiful game
Elin’s phone hasn’t stopped
Since the tale hit the
papers
Every golfer in the
world
Wants to speak to her
To get some pointers
On how to beat Tiger
Capdevila has reached the pinnacle
Of herculean World Cup
feats
He has joined the
pantheon
Of notorious world cup
cheats
Did you think Lord Triesman mad, for saying?
That referees might me
bribed by Spain
If so, did watching
the sending off of Costa
Give you any doubt and
make you think again
If St Paul's day
Be fair and clear
Then Wimbledon
Will be good this year
And strawberries will
Sell well my dear
St Paul's day (June 29th)
We left the stadium after awhile
Exiting though the
open turnstiles
To find
inappropriately clad in licra
And standing on top of
a Micra
A very fat woman
singing opera
From on top of that
poor little car
When I heard a laugh
from my lad
Who then said “It’s
all over then Dad”
The game of Golf is character building
In the view of certain
people
Others are a little
more grounded
And would describe it
as a perpetual
Series of unmitigated
disasters
Punctuated by an
occasional miracle
I hate the Champion’s League
On so many levels
I hate it because it’s
a competition
Devised by money
grubbing devils
I hate it because you
have to enter it
Because that is where
the money is found
Money to lure the
pampered prima donnas
To your particular
ground
I hate it because it
is ceded
So the best teams are
always on view
So that UEFA can
optimise
Their television
revenue
I hate it because it
doesn’t seem to know
What it really wants
to be
Is it a knockout
competition?
Or the beginnings of
the super league
But I hate it most of
all
Above all other
considerations
Because the European
Champions League
Has so few actual
champions
Post Script
Well all the above is
true
But I regret the
overriding reason
That I hate it so
passionately is that
We have been knocked
out this season
The song of the supporter’s pack
“Who’s the wanker in
the black?”
That was the chant
But no longer, for you
cant
Disrespect the referee
For a man such as he
Is to be protected
And respected
And no one must speak
ill
Even if forced to
swallow the bitter pill
Of un-just officialdom
Which is NOT seldom
No manager may mutter
Query or utter
Discontent in the ref’s
direction
For to commit such an
indiscretion
Will see them had up
before the FA
Where a fine must be
paid
And be sentenced to a
touchline ban
For insulting the
black clad man
But why should they be
protected
And forcibly respected
They are a
professional group
And well salaried to
boot
They no longer
officiate
In their amateur state
Low-tech refereeing
A hobby to be fitted
in
Attending the scene of
their crime
In their spare time
With no remuneration
For their dedication
No “bread and honey”
Just enough for petrol
money
If lucky luncheon
vouchers maybe
For a cup of tea
And a pie to warm the
soul
Before disallowing a
perfectly good goal
It was much better
then
With those amateur men
And be able to say to
their faces
That they were bloody
disgraces
I don’t think we have
progressed
Now we have
professional refs
They now think
themselves important
And no longer want to
hear the chant
But I still want to
sing with the pack
