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 ramblings and things

On Match Day

The match day at last
Is finally here.
Meet up In the pub for
A skinful of beer.
He's a nine pint cowboy
Lord of all he surveys
As he's all ale'd up on
His footie match days!
You can see him there,
Centre of his mini mob
You can certainly hear,
His over loud gob,
Pouring forth garbage
In a steady stream
In his alcoholic daze
As he watches his team.

It's not so often these days
He gets the chance to shout,
Only those match days
His wife allows him out.
Really he's just that
inadequate type of man
Who brings disrepute
On your true footie fan,
Those in the majority
Who live out their dream
Through thick and thin
Following their team.
The modern Roman games
Without the  blood and killing
But, for the real footie fan,
Just as absorbing and thrilling

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