Grey clouds and rain The ground less than full, Boy wonder returns Seeking his ton. 4 home games played With one point to show, One point from hoofball Bereft of a flow That would quell the masses’ Collective unease, Awaiting the game To finally appease. Appease the faithful. Show them the worth, Of a Royal Blue army Engaged back and forth In a war With the champions Of England and more, The champions of football Played on the floor. And for all the endeavour The huff and the puff, After forty five minutes We’d just had enough. Out thought, out fought Out passed and out tackled, Had the Royal Blue men Lost their taste for the battle? How low had it been In the half time gloom? In the stands, on the pitch In the dressing room? What could be said? What could be done? Plain and simple The Mancs, They had us outgunned. Fear not loyal hordes Fear not the pain, Of watching your charges Fall short again. With fire in their bellies Emerging intent, From the tunnel they came And all were hell bent. Hell bent on righting, Righting the wrongs Of previous matches Disappointing the throngs. Blackburn twice, Pompey, Liege and the shite, Dropped points to the barcodes It just wasn’t right. Had Moyes let them have it? Left no stone unturned? To help them remember The football they’d learned. Learned and employed To such great effect At the end of last season Fifth place was correct And a fitting reward…. Second half whistle Pierces the air, Ronaldo’s Irish dancing But Nev doesn’t care. Slides in with a tackle Hard but fair, Twinkletoes triple rolls Oh how could he dare? To have tackled the winker To put boot on ball, Never at Madrid His face says it all. Which is less than was said By the galloping Rio Or by Giggs recreating A United trio, But this time dear Nev Remembered the Blue That he’s worn these past years And ignored the two. Just turned to the ref Took yellow in stride, And plotted the downfall Of his previous side. As downfalls go, It was more up and down Up by Nev Down by Big Bird, Smack off his crown. To the bottom right corner Of van der Sar’s net, Hairdryer himself Was starting to fret. For all that it mattered Goodison gone wild, Adoring it’s new Badge kissing child. More tackles, more chances The Yak off the post, As an embittered Ferdinand He surely did roast. Rooney on Mikey Oh what a clown. To kiss the Manc badge On the golden ground, Of Goodison. No more to be had From our prodigious son Dragged off by Fergie Lest his work be done. By the referee With a card just as red, As the jersey worn By the boy born and bred, In the ways of the Blues. Not long to go now But it’s end to end, How long to endure? How long to contend With the disgruntled devil? To be honest who cares The game’s for the taking! Snatch victory from defeat It’s there in the making. If this titanic struggle Is going to be won, It’s the Toffees who’ll cheer At Goodison. Mr Wiley however Has no such plans Saves the Mancs from defeat Whistle in hand. Now in mouth - pheep pheep pheep, It’s the end of the game. But the start of the season For all those who came To the see the Blues play, To see the Blues fight, Despite all the wrongs To see that their’s light At the end of the tunnel. Nine points from nine ‘Tis a sorry sight, But with Saturday’s point Some wrongs are now right. Six points from two Now that’s what we need Just have to keep faith Just have to believe. Bolton then Fulham, We have a great chance Let’s just pretend That we’re playing the Mancs That winning feeling And that from a draw Let’s feel it again But by winning them all!
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