On our recent Podcast we complained about the international break. So as a form of therapy, I came up with a poem to sooth my soul. Enjoy.
It comes out of nowhere, like it does every year
It startles us with its coming and moves us nearly to tears,
Because just as we get used to our weekend routine,
It crashes into our lives like a teen drama queen
“For the good of the game, to let our lads thrive!
For where else would you get to see Fabian Delph
Nip past a Norwegian, as quick as an elf?”
And so we sit and we wait and we talk about games
And about how England must start from scratch once again.
“Go back to grass-roots!”
“Play Rooney out wide!”
“This lot are no better than a Sunday pub side!”
There’s anger, there’s tension, there’s a certain malaise,
That comes from seeing England’s dreary displays,
From seeing 4-4-2 and the standard brass band,
From there being less than 30 thousand fans in the stand.
But the week will tick on, and Saturday will draw near,
And we’ll once more get excited as the league clicks into gear,
There’s Arsenal and City, and Liverpool against Villa,
There’ll be six goal romps, and last minute winners,
And even Michael Owen can’t ruin this now,
and by the time Silva beats Flamini with a shimmy and shake,
We’ll have forgotten all about that f***ing International break.