The Night We Were Robbed

On a night at the Bridge we were robbed of our dream
Of a visit to Rome with our proud football team.
We were robbed of a final for one certain reason –
UEFA said no to the same as last season.

A ‘blind’ man from Norway ignored every claim.
One penalty scored would have finished the game.
But he was an expert on stitching us up
To make sure we’d no chance of lifting that cup.

Our die-hard support is no stranger to loss,
We’ve lived through the bleak years when games were pure dross.
We’re no glory hunters who think we’ve a right
To land every trophy and win every fight.

We’re real fans, not plastic, who follow our club
And not from an armchair, and not from a pub.
We sing loud and proud and we sing in the stand
Whatever the fixture, all over the land.

We smile in our glory, we suffer the bad –
But this smells of corruption and that’s why we’re mad.
UEFA have got what they wanted (for now.)
We will be back one day and win it somehow.

Then Mr Platini can kiss Drogba’s arse
But meantime, the Champion’s League is a FARCE.

© Carol Wood
6th May 2009

Index of Posts:

My bespoke poetry service, Diverse Verse
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NOT Just Saying: Carol’s comments on feminism, fashion, food and folly
Only in Erinsborough Carol Ann’s fun look at the lives and loves of the characters from the Australian soapNeighbours

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