Gather round ye all for I have a poem for you all. ’Twas the Night Before the Premiership (With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore) ’Twas the night before kick-off, and all through the town, Not a Mackem was sleeping, not even Alan Brown!. The shirts were all hung by the telly with care, In hopes that the Lads soon would triumph out there. @Smug in Boots nestled snug with his phone, Arranging away-days like a ticket king’s throne. While @CR17 in his red top bounced round like a pup, Shouting “We’ve signed ANOTHER! Our odds have shot up!” @TonyG at his laptop placed wagers once more, Though his betting slip history could tell quite the lore. “Five-nil to the Lads!” he declared without shame, Though last year he’d called every single match… wrong game. @Iptv sat roaring, his volume on max, Debating the ref and the offside-line tracks. With streaming guides posted and shouts in ALL CAPS, He’d argue ‘til sunrise about VAR traps. And @Southern A , all sunny and bright, Proclaimed, “Top four’s ours, lads, this feels the year, right?” His glass wasn’t just half full — it was overspilled beer, And the foam spelled “Champions!” if you squinted from near. Then out on the pitch there arose such a clatter, The warm-ups had started, the fans all would chatter. Away to the stands they all flew in a flash, With scarves held aloft and the drums set to bash. The floodlights they twinkled, the Roker End roared, The Lads in their stripes down the tunnel they poured. And the fans, they all knew as the whistle did blow, It’s the hope that we love — and it might be our show. So here’s to the season, the wins and the strife, To Sunderland glory — and the best days of life. And as TonyG places one last hopeful bet, We all cry together: “Ha’way the Lads, yet!”
Luckily my missus is as obsessed with footy and the premier league as me We even sit with 5-live on as well I LOVE THE FOOTBALL SEASON!
