Mad Eyed Screamer
Moderator
Not my work of art - but well done to whoever produced this beauty!
‘Twas the 10th of December,
Reds 8 points behind,
Mourinho was planning,...
Not one clue could he find.
Men against boys,
And this was no friendly,
2-1 at home,
Silva, Otamendi.
‘It’s not fair!’ - he whined,
He did curse and did cuss,
‘If only I’d done anything,
But park that big bus.’
It drove him insane, to the land of cuckoo,
Two assists from the clown - Romelu Lukaku.
Beaten at home for the whole world to see,
‘I know!’ said Jose,
‘I’ll blame the referee!’
Nobody laughed, it wasn’t too funny,
‘But..but...,’ came the cry,
‘At least we earn our own money!’
Unimpressed as they were,
With their teams lowly feats,
All that was left was to sing:
‘Empty seats!’
Worn out old songs,
And dreary sad rhymes,
Still living on the treble,
Hollow chants of ‘20 times’.
When all’s said and done they’re left feeling bereft,
Ranting on about history,
As it’s all they’ve got left.
The reds fans went home, in a collective trance,
To Dublin and Belfast, London, Penzance.
But all that mattered after, by a quarter to seven,
Was the eight point gap had now grown to eleven.”
‘Twas the 10th of December,
Reds 8 points behind,
Mourinho was planning,...
Not one clue could he find.
Men against boys,
And this was no friendly,
2-1 at home,
Silva, Otamendi.
‘It’s not fair!’ - he whined,
He did curse and did cuss,
‘If only I’d done anything,
But park that big bus.’
It drove him insane, to the land of cuckoo,
Two assists from the clown - Romelu Lukaku.
Beaten at home for the whole world to see,
‘I know!’ said Jose,
‘I’ll blame the referee!’
Nobody laughed, it wasn’t too funny,
‘But..but...,’ came the cry,
‘At least we earn our own money!’
Unimpressed as they were,
With their teams lowly feats,
All that was left was to sing:
‘Empty seats!’
Worn out old songs,
And dreary sad rhymes,
Still living on the treble,
Hollow chants of ‘20 times’.
When all’s said and done they’re left feeling bereft,
Ranting on about history,
As it’s all they’ve got left.
The reds fans went home, in a collective trance,
To Dublin and Belfast, London, Penzance.
But all that mattered after, by a quarter to seven,
Was the eight point gap had now grown to eleven.”