Ode to a drumming manager.
The manager was fixated. Unable to let go of his previous calling. And it showed in his behaviour.
Some say he was too long in the tooth,
banging on about the old days. But he decided to
stick it out.
The owner appointed him hoping for a
rebound stroke but the slide down the
tabla continued.
He tried to
drum his ideas into the players but it wasnt to be.
His language could be
bass as he berated players.
And his tactics were questionable, sitting back and drawing the opposition on, trying to
snare them, didnt work.
Ball skills were poor. In training players failed to beat a man with a
single drag tap successfully. Unable to trap the ball it would often
multiple bounce roll. A sorry state.
He couldn't even remember who was in the playing staff. On one occasion calling '
Tom, Tom', despite Tom having left several years earlier.
His day is done. The fans are tired of his
flim flam. Its been a car
crash.
Time for him to put on his
top hat and go.
All that is left for him to do is the ayatollah, the
cymbal of the club.